


The Silver Lining

by Decim



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Duty, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Mages and Templars, Minor Violence, Nobility, POV Alternating, POV Cullen Rutherford, POV Inquisitor, Realistic, Romance, Sided with Templars, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:04:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 84,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decim/pseuds/Decim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cautious ex-templar and a calculating noble woman. She is caught in a situation she was never prepared for, her only skills those of the Ostwick aristocracy. He has seen a few battles too many, and has little patience for secrets and games. They find that it takes more than a change of clothes to leave the past behind, that kinship can be found in unexpected places, and what it means to follow your own path instead of that of someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Frying Pan

Cullen stared at the reflection in his shield. It was a blur, not helped by the scorch marks and dents it had recently received. His armor was in better shape, but also carried evidence of the chaos he’d been swept up in since he arrived in the sleepy town of Haven. With the Conclave being held there and the Inquisition’s army gathering outside its walls, it had not been as quiet as it likely was at other times. But the contrast between what it was now and only a few days ago was stark indeed.

In the misshapen version of himself looking back at him, he could see darkness lining his eyes and the beginnings of a rather large bruise along his collar bone. Tracing his torso with his hands he checked on the other ones, some of which were fortunately already starting to heal. He reached up to his face, noticing the skin of his fingers was cracked and dry despite the thick leather gloves he wore at all times, and touched the scar on his lip. It had been a nasty cut, a fitting parting gift from Kirkwall, but seemed to have healed properly. As he brushed past the line of his jaw, he noticed the length of his stubble. It was longer than he usually kept it. How long had it been since he last shaved?

Three days. _Three days?_ Was that all? It felt like an eternity. He closed his eyes and thought back through the flurry of memories that had crammed itself into his mind in such a short time. It was a little over a week since their ship had landed in Ferelden. The travel to Haven took several days and the Conclave had already started by the time they arrived. The doors to the temple had been shut, not to be opened again until a solution was found to the conflict between the two factions involved, excluding both the Divine’s Left and Right Hand from the proceedings.

Cullen had immediately thrown himself onto the work awaiting him - getting to know the officers under his command, establishing rota’s, managing inventory and scheduling training sessions. Fortunately he was helped by Fletcher, a Ferelden man who was previously captain of the guard for some Orlesian noble and now his second in command. He had been doing Cullen’s job until his arrival and was so far proving to be very capable. Still, Cullen had his own way of doing things and there was plenty of room for optimization, something he was rather fond of. Despite the amount of tasks ahead, it had started off relatively easy. In its current state the Inquisition’s army was not much larger than the Kirkwall Order had been, and here he did not have to deal with the things he'd had to over there since the annulment of the Circle. But that had all changed soon after.

 

It was at the end of the evening and he had been on his way to check with Lady Cassandra in the Chantry when the blast happened; deafening, shaking the very earth and heavens, knocking him and anyone else still about to the ground and sending a ripple up his spine as he felt the Veil collapse. Lightning struck up from the temple as he watched, opening a flaming chasm in the sky that sent emerald bolts to rain down upon the mountain. The temple had been wiped from view. He pushed himself back up and ran outside the walls where more people were beginning to gather. Varric appeared next to him only a moment later, crossbow in hand.

“Ugh,” he groaned, “not again.”

It was one of the rare occasions where Cullen was of one mind with the dwarf.

After that, time had lost all meaning. Seventy-two blurry hours of combat, screaming, demons... complete and utter madness. At first no one had a clue of what had happened. The only thing that was clear were the shades and ghouls that started to find their way down the mountain, falling from the Breach - as the fracture in the sky was quickly named - or appearing from other, smaller cracks in the Veil.

Cullen rallied what troops they had and little by little they managed to take the mountain path, setting up barricades and roadblocks along the way to keep the monsters from swarming into the village. He himself spent most of his time at the front, fighting his hardest while keeping an eye on their soldiers. The mental and physical stress of their situation could easily overwhelm any man, and many of them had never even seen a demon before. He tried to send anyone back to the camp for a rest who seemed close to breaking, but as time passed by it became increasingly impossible to do so.

It had been deep into the night, after several hours of grueling combat, that they finally managed to gain a foothold in the temple and found it reduced to nothing more than rubble and ash. The dead lay scattered across the frozen ground, and once they entered what used to be the vestibule, it only got worse. Bodies, frozen in positions of dread and terror, their skin even parts shining red and scorched black. As quick as the explosion had happened, their deaths did not seem painless in the least. Cullen stepped over something shriveled and smoking, trying his best not to think too much about what it used to be, when a shout came from ahead.

“Commander!” One of the Nightingale’s scouts stood on top of a broken wall and pointed to something beyond. “We found a survivor!”

A survivor? Alarm bells rang loudly in his head. The scout had come from the grand hall, the very spot where the searing energy torrent went up from towards the Breach, the center of the explosion. If anyone was alive in there, what were the odds that they _weren’t_ involved in its ignition?

Cullen quickly climbed up to where the scout - Avery, if he recalled her name correctly - was waiting for him, stepping carefully to avoid loose rocks as he made his way across the rubble. “Who is it?” he asked her, squinting into the distance. Below the Breach, right under a strange, pulsing crystal that hung suspended in the air, were a few more soldiers, standing around a person lying on the floor.

“A woman, ser,” she replied. “A rift opened and she stepped out or... fell is perhaps more accurate. She lost consciousness immediately. Some say they saw another woman behind her before the rift closed again.”

Cullen signaled to Fletcher, who quickly began to set up a defensive perimeter, before following the scout down to the rift. “Another woman?” How many women were going to come out of the Fade in a single day?

“Yes, ser,” she said, sliding down nimbly along the remains of a large statue that now lay at an angle against the wall. “I didn’t see her myself, but the others...” She paused and glanced over to where the survivor lay, before continuing. “They say it was Andraste behind her, ser.”

Cullen failed to suppress a scoff. “Now wouldn’t that be great?” he muttered under his breath as he made his way down in a manner much less agile than the scout had.

The men standing around the woman all eyed him nervously when he came towards them. They had their swords drawn and pointed at the stranger, though all kept a distance of several meters, clearly not wishing to get any closer.

“Look, ser,” Avery said in a hushed voice, as if she was scared she might wake the woman up. “She’s got a glowing scar on her hand. It seems to respond to the Breach.”

Cullen pushed away his own nerves at the sight of the survivor and stepped in closer to kneel beside her. She was lying face down, wearing unremarkable traveller’s clothes that were dusty and stained. Her hair was ashen and dirty and though it had mostly come undone, it was evident it had been neatly braided at some point. He grabbed the woman’s shoulder and turned her over. She was fair-skinned, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Her right hand had landed next to his boot and he took her wrist to lift it up. It was no worker’s hand, the fingers soft and delicate with groomed nails.

Her left hand he was more reluctant to touch. It lay folded open on her other side, crackling with green light and pulsing with every surge he felt coming from the tear above them. It was no magic he had ever seen before. Whatever it was, there was no doubt in his mind that Avery was right in her assumption that it was of the same source as the Breach.

 _Looks like we at least have our culprit_ , he thought to himself, though he was careful not to speak the words. She didn’t look like someone who would blow up a temple, but then who did? Either way, if he had learned anything from Kirkwall, it was that fear and hatred could lead to terrible consequences. The people would draw their conclusions soon enough without him aggravating the situation.

“What should we do, ser?” Avery asked. She’d stepped closer too and was looking over his shoulder at the mysterious woman in front of them.

“Go down to inform the Hands,” he said sternly. “I will take her out. She will have a lot of explaining to do, assuming she lives.”

The woman’s breath was labored as he pushed one arm under her torso and another under her knees. The delicacy of her features had made him misjudge her weight and he lifted her with less grace than he’d hoped for. Carefully, he found a way through the debris and carried her out, watching her face contort with pain with every pulse from the Breach. _Don’t you dare die right now_ , he thought grimly. _You will answer for what you’ve done, or I’ll hunt you down in the Fade myself._

The moment he stepped out of the archway that used to be the grand entrance to the temple, another rift cracked open behind him. Two soldiers came running up with a stretcher and he placed her on it, casting her one last look before he turned back and rejoined the fighting.

 

Three days since then and over time, as he saw more of his men fall to the demons and felt the sense of dread in the air increase exponentially, he’d only grown more resentful towards the prisoner that had stumbled out of the rift. He rubbed his eyes and began to put his armor back on. He’d been able to catch an hour of rest, at most, unlike the prisoner who apparently had been fast asleep since they found her. When was the blasted woman going to wake up already?

As he strapped the plating to his forearm, he noticed a long gash running along the metal. A claw mark, rage demon’s most likely. It did nothing to improve his mood. The armor was new, the first thing he got for himself the moment he decided to leave the templars. Though it was better to take the hit with it rather than his arm, it didn’t lessen the sting of seeing it damaged so shortly after acquiring it.

“Commander!” Fletcher stuck his head through the entrance of his tent when he was fastening his belt. “Word from the Nightingale. Lady Cassandra is bringing the prisoner up. Also, another rift has opened. It’s a big one.”

“Location?”

“Antechamber, ser. We’re holding them back for now, but we won’t be able to should another one open.”

“Get everyone still able to hold a sword,” he said, grabbing his own and sheathing it. “Lady Cassandra shouldn’t be long. We need to hold our position until she can bring the prisoner, no matter what.”

“Yes, ser,” the man answered and he disappeared from view.

Cullen took a deep breath before heading out again himself as well. He didn’t know who he trusted less; the woman with the mark, or the apostate who had shown up out of nowhere and theorized that very mark might be able to close the rifts. Of course it would be the case that of all people, these two were currently their only hope of saving the world from complete destruction.

The moment he joined the fight, his mind switched modes. Gone were the thoughts of doubt and worry, quickly replaced by a primal instinct that directed his every move. Raise shield, angle it to deflect the fire, step round to dodge, strike. A rushing behind him signaled the incoming charge of a wraith. He ducked, feeling the green blast stir his hair, and spun around to face the ghost. Within seconds he closed the distance, dodging another hit, and vanquished the creature with a single upwards slash of his blade.

There was no end to them. The moment they had laid the demons to waste, new ones clawed their way out of the rifts and ground almost instantly. He pushed down with his foot on the chest of one to pull his sword from its body, and wiped his brow with the back of his glove as he looked around. Further away, one of the soldiers faltered and fell. Cullen dashed towards him, throwing himself between the boy and the demon advancing on him. It pushed against his shield, grabbing around it and scratching at his arms with its claws, its flaming eyes inches away from his face.

There was no warning of the arrow, except for a faint whistling noise that was near inaudible within the chaos. It flew close enough past his face for him to feel the air move and struck the demon square between the eyes. For a moment it froze, before letting out an ear-splitting shriek, throwing itself away from him as it clawed at its face, and dissolving into mist. Cullen spun around, searching for the marksman.

Silver hair flowed over her shoulder as she sat knelt down on top of the broken wall, already aiming another arrow. It shot through the air and found its target, effectively dispatching another demon further down the field. Cassandra appeared as well, her apostate and Varric in tow, and his focus was once again on the battle. For the first time in days a rift disappeared instead of opened, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Lady Cassandra,” he called, moving towards her. “You managed to close the rift. Well done.”

“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” she said in her heavy Nevarran accent. “This is the prisoner’s doing.”

She looked towards the woman standing further away, who was conversing with Varric. To his surprise, the look on the Seeker’s face was uncharacteristically soft as she regarded her.

“The mark works then?” he asked her.

“It works on the small rifts, at least. We will see if it works on the Breach.”

“Has she said anything? Is she behind this?”

“If she was, I doubt she would admit it to us, Commander,” the Seeker said dryly. “But I doubt that she is. She has been most willing to help and seems as confused by what has happened as the rest of us.”

“And you believe her?” he scoffed.

She raised an eyebrow. “I am allowing the possibility. Right now, she is helping us. That is all that matters at the moment.”

He glanced over at the woman again. As much as he wanted to believe in the Seeker’s judgement, her readiness to trust the prisoner made him all the more wary of her. She turned her head and locked eyes with him. Her clothes and hair were even filthier than when they found her from spending the last days in the damp cell under the Chantry and a bruise seemed to be forming on the side of her face. Yet there was something about her stance, the sharp features of her face and the way she looked around her that, despite her disheveled appearance, made her appear... The only word that came to mind was ‘regal’.

Her eyes were almond shaped, narrowing towards the outer corners and curving slightly upwards, and grey, matching the ashen color of her hair. They rapidly flit across his face and down his body as she sized him up, making him feel oddly exposed in spite of being covered in layers of clothes and armor. She came towards them and eyed him with a friendly curiosity, glancing over at Cassandra as if she was waiting to be introduced.

“Commander,” the Seeker said, motioning towards the woman. “Meet Elsa.”

“I hope they’re right about you,” he said, raising his eyebrow at the Seeker. _They’re on a first name basis?_ “We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

“I’ll do my best not to let their sacrifice be in vain, Commander... ?” Her voice was deeper than he had expected and cultured, without any discernible accent. It went up a note at the end of her sentence, and she kept her eyebrows slightly raised while she waited for him to introduce himself.

“... Cullen.” The answer had left his mouth before his mind had made a conscious decision to do so.

She inclined her head a fraction and gave him the faintest of smiles before turning back towards Cassandra. “We should continue, no?” she asked and the other woman nodded in response.

“The way to the temple should be clear,” he said, also focusing his eyes on the Seeker, though his thoughts took a second longer to catch up. “Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we’d best move quickly,” she replied. “Give us time, Commander.”

“Maker watch over you,” he said, casting one more look at the silver-haired woman. “For all our sakes.”

“And you, Commander,” she said softly, before turning and walking away.

He turned as well, quickly catching up to the soldier he defended earlier and pulling the boy’s arm over his shoulders to support him. The image of her eyes lingered in the back of his mind. _Oh no,_ he thought, masking the groan that escaped him by hoisting the young man higher up his shoulder. _This is so inconvenient._

 

* * *

 

 The next time he saw her it was another three days later. It was disturbing how quickly the public opinion of her had changed. Not only that, everyone around him seemed positively enamored with the survivor from the rift.

“It is most fortunate that she is a Trevelyan,” Josephine said, practically bouncing with joy while she checked something on the clipboard that seemed to be permanently sown to her hand. “They are a large family with many connections. If we can rally them behind us, it will give the Inquisition so much more standing.”

“Don’t get too excited yet, Josie,” the Nightingale smiled. “While she is a Trevelyan, I have found surprisingly little information on her. Let’s not count our ravens before they have hatched, all right?”

“What did you find?” Cullen asked before Josephine could reply, raising an eyebrow at the spymaster.

“Nothing that stands out particularly,” she said thoughtfully. “She is the fifth of six children and only daughter born to Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. There was another girl, but she died young. Many of her brothers are templars, while she is active in the local Chantry and community. There is talk of an engagement to an Antivan lord, but nothing official. By all accounts, she seems perfectly normal. I would just expect there to be more details about her, given her position. For many years it is like she might as well have not existed at all and even now her public appearances seem to be rare.”

“That is something you should look into then,” he said curtly.

Leliana let out a soft sing-song laugh. “Do you think she uses her time off from tending to the poor to hang out with maleficar and plan explosions, Commander? I have talked with the girl, it seems most unlikely. But I will continue to look into it, to ease your mind.”

Her mouth had twisted into a teasing smirk and he rolled his eyes, when the door opened.

The prisoner entered behind Cassandra. She had washed and changed her clothes. Instead of the raggedy traveller’s outfit, she was wearing a sensible light armor with a long, blue leather hunting coat. Her hair was shining and pulled up into a casual bun, with several loose strands in the front that framed her face.

The Seeker did not waste any time. “You’ve met Commander Cullen,” she told the woman. “Leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

The eyes focused on him and he swallowed. They had always been his weakness. First there had been the deep greens of Solona Amell, and later it had been no different with the steely blues of Marian Hawke. As different as they were in disposition, it had not been surprising to find out the two were related. When either of them had looked at him with those eyes, it had turned him into a big pile of mush, unable to even form a proper sentence in his head. Though age and experience had helped in lessening that effect, it didn’t make him any less uncomfortable now that he was looking into the misty grey ones before him. “It was only for a moment on the field,” he said, to his relief without stuttering. “I’m pleased you survived.”

“That makes two of us,” she smiled. “Pardon me, but would you be the former knight-commander of Kirkwall?”

He blinked. “I... yes, that is me. I left the Order a little over a month ago to join the Inquisition.”

“I see. Please forgive my curiosity. Ostwick is not far from Kirkwall, so we have heard stories of course. It must have been a very challenging assignment, restoring order after that terrible tragedy.”

“It... was. Yes.” Though he kept his face neutral, mentally his eyebrow was pulled up higher than ever. There had been talk of him in other cities? He’d never given much thought to that, though it seemed obvious now. What stories had she heard, exactly?

She gave him another smile and a short nod in response, before following Cassandra’s gesture towards Josephine. “I believe our families have some connection, lady Montilyet. Through some of my cousins, if I am not mistaken?” she said in that perfectly cultured voice. It was a warm sound and smooth like velvet, yet there was something about the lack of accent that made it sound... impersonal? Or did he just want to think that?

“Indeed, they do!” Josephine exclaimed. “I was just saying before, my lady, it would be so helpful if we could count on connections like these to give the Inquisition a proper start.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Josephine. We should sit together soon to see what support we can gather.” _Again already with the first names?_

The focus then shifted to Leliana and eventually to the topic at hand. Cullen sighed as the spymaster once again brought her suggestion of approaching the rebel mages to the table as if it was the only solution to their problem. He had lost count of how often they had repeated the same discussion since the Breach had stabilized. When they each went through their opinions again now, it was without much vigor, mechanical almost. It wasn’t like anything was going to change.

“If I might interject...” All eyes turned to the silver-haired woman. “I do not wish to push my opinion where it is not wanted,” she said calmly, “but since I will be trying to close the Breach, I would like to share my view. I would agree with the commander. A tear in the Veil is dangerous enough as it is. It would seem the safer route, for myself and those around, is to enlist the aid of the templars.”

A silence fell as they stared at her. Cullen felt his head angle to the side as he observed the woman - Elsa, was it? - while she continued to calmly gaze at the people around her.

“Unfortunately,” Josephine began, glancing at the others, “neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition - and you, specifically.”

“Do they still believe me guilty?” she asked, her neatly trimmed eyebrows pulling down ever so slightly.

“That is not the entirety of it any longer. Some are calling you the ‘Herald of Andraste’. That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“That is quite a risk you are taking on my account,” she said softly, now frowning in earnest. Her expression relaxed as they continued to discuss the developments since she tried to close the Breach and she nodded thoughtfully when Cassandra explained her of the identity the people had attributed to the woman seen behind her in the rift.

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it?” Cullen asked, carefully watching for her response. “How do you feel about that?”

She raised her head and thought a moment before answering. “I am reluctant to embrace it, and indeed would be wary of anyone who would accept a name like that too readily,” she said slowly. “But I do prefer it over ‘mass murderer’.”

He huffed a short laugh through his nose. It was becoming very clear how this woman had managed to gain sympathy so quickly among his peers. Her manners were perfect, her words carefully chosen, and she delivered them with the right mix of friendliness, care, and humor. But when she smiled at him, he couldn’t help but think the gesture didn’t quite reach her eyes. Whether it was because of their color or something else, he couldn’t tell, but there was something subdued about them. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t make them any less hypnotizing.

The meeting came to a close and Cullen quickly made his way back to the camp. There were still mountains of work ahead. The moment he reached the training grounds, Fletcher handed him a stack of reports and he flipped through them briefly. New volunteers, some supplies that had been donated, another list of soldiers who had succumbed to their injuries and whose families would need to be informed, and a selection of other matters.

To his relief, one of the documents was a pledge of allegiance from some templars that had been stationed in the Hinterlands and were due to arrive within a week. It would make all the difference to have some seasoned officers under his command. Only a handful of the Kirkwall templars had joined him when he left for the Inquisition and though the volunteers did their best, most were farmhands or the sons of bakers and blacksmiths. It would take weeks for them to resemble anything like proper warriors. With the Breach still in the sky, the more templars they had, the sounder he would sleep at night.

He handed Fletcher back the documents and turned his attention to the recruits training around him, barking instructions to one of them as he got hit in the face with a wooden sword by his sparring partner. His attention was drawn to a point behind the man holding his nose closed to stop the bleeding. The woman - the Herald, as people now called her - was standing a little away, her eyes drifting over the training soldiers. She looked up and met his gaze briefly, before inclining her head and walking back towards the village. _Who are you, Elsa Trevelyan?_

 

* * *

 

Over time, it became harder to be suspicious of the survivor. Her reports were clear and eloquent when she explained of the situations they encountered in the Hinterlands. In her first letter she had been quick to inquire after how a military report should be formatted and with the next she had already adapted her writing style to fit to what was expected of her. While they were away, many more volunteers wandered in from the countryside, all sharing opinions nothing short of glowing of the silver-haired Herald. As far as suddenly proclaimed prophets went, Elsa Trevelyan seemed to be about the best you could have.

Cullen didn’t see much of her. After the brief exchange they’d had when she asked him how she should present her findings to him, there wasn’t much reason to reply to her concise reports. When she was within the village, she spent a lot of her time talking to Josephine about possible alliances, or among their growing number of followers. They met briefly on a few occasions, but besides official matters he found he had little to tell her. Despite her affiliation with the Order, it felt like their positions and background were so vastly different that he couldn’t think of anything to say that might interest her. Not to mention what words he did find still tended to tangle on his tongue whenever she looked at him with those misty grey eyes.

What was his problem? By now there seemed to be a distinct pattern to the women he was intrigued by. Powerful women, smart, educated… often mages, though at least that was not the case with the Herald. Not bad qualities of course, but they fascinated as much as they unnerved him. Not to mention they inflamed the insecurities that had plagued him since he was a boy.

Though he’d made enough friends among the other trainees when he first joined the Order, even in that group there had always been a distinct separation between the classes. Many of the recruits joined much younger than he did, some of whom had even been promised to the Order at birth. No doubt this was the kind of family Trevelyan was from as well. Despite them supposedly leaving behind previous ties to form a unified force, they had lingered nonetheless and some of the boys from more privileged backgrounds had let the others - him among them - feel the difference keenly. He’d worked harder than anyone to make up for missing the early years of training and quickly gained the respect of his peers, yet he always knew that for some it would never be enough. Even as an adult, these little doubts and uncertainties were hard to get rid of completely.

Though he’d largely grown out of caring for the opinions of other men and the nobility in general, certain women had proven themselves experts at reducing him to that same thirteen year old boy all over. Amell - quiet, well-spoken and incredibly talented - only had to look at him and he turned into a bumbling mess. Even if fraternization was allowed between templars and their charges, there was no way someone like her would ever go for him. It still stung to recall the things he'd said the time he saw her after she joined the Wardens. Maker only knows what the Hero of Ferelden thought of him now, assuming she would even remember him at all.

Hawke - brave, vibrant, and smart like a whip - who in a matter of years had seemingly managed to wrap the entire City of Chains around her little finger. Despite her living in the slums and arriving in the Free Marches with nothing but the clothes on her back, there was an air of authority and confidence around her that was mesmerizing. Unlike her cousin, she was very much aware of how she was regarded by him (and plenty of his colleagues), and she was perfectly at ease with that. Whenever he came across her she enjoyed teasing him and observing the effect that it had. He became more desensitized to her antics over the years, though the feelings the Champion of Kirkwall stirred up with her presence never completely subsided.

And now there was Elsa Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste. Another big title, one far above his own. She was calm and collected to an extent it was almost frightening. Whenever he found himself observing her, she moved with such grace and elegance she didn’t seem real. Among his men she was often the topic of conversation, though where in the case of Hawke the tone of the discussions among the templars had been downright filthy, in the case of Elsa they were full of admiration and respect.

He halted at the gate and watched her for a while on his way to the Chantry. She was sitting with Varric in his usual place and let out a soft laugh at something he said, sending an uncomfortable itch down Cullen’s chest. He shook his head to clear his mind and walked past them to meet Cassandra in the war room, as they’d dubbed the room at the back of the Chantry.

He was halfway up the path when raised voices caught his attention. There was a gathering in front of the building and there was no mistaking the hostile tone of the conversation. A mage and one of the templars that had joined recently were at a stand-off, their voices growing louder by the second. Just as the templar was about to draw his sword, Cullen stepped between them and quickly ended the argument. A moment later, Chancellor Roderick’s drawling voice came from the crowd and he felt his hand clench around his own sword automatically. By the Maker, he detested the man.

“Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”

The man clearly felt he hadn’t. Cullen quickly ordered the onlookers to make themselves scarce should the Chancellor’s poison tongue find a willing ear to listen, unlikely as it seemed with how highly Trevelyan was regarded among the people. He growled back a reply at the Chancellor’s words, forgetting Josephine’s request of not antagonizing the man and faintly noticing how much it bugged him when the cleric spoke ill of their Herald.

“Gentlemen.” She had moved in on them as silent as a whisper and stood tall next to him. It was the first time she had gotten so close and he noticed how she was only a little shorter than him. “What’s going on?” she asked, looking from him to the Chancellor and back.

“Ah, here she is,” the man sneered. “The so called ‘Herald of Andraste’. Perhaps you can answer better than your templar, my lady. How do you intend to restore order?”

“From the tone of your question it seems you are not actually interested in my answer to it, Chancellor,” she said gently. “I would hope you believe me when I say however, that it is only my intention to help. It would be beneficial to both of us if you tell me how I might best do that, in your opinion.”

Cullen stared at her in disbelief. She was going to reason with this... yapping fool?

The Chancellor seemed somewhat taken aback himself by her response. “Your organization flouting the Chantry’s authority is not helping matters. The best way for you to help is to cease what you are doing. The Breach, the war between the mages and templars... All this should be left to a new Divine. If you are innocent, the Chantry will establish it as so.”

“Or will be happy to use someone as a scapegoat,” Cullen spat.

Her hand lightly touched the plating on his arm and he glanced over. The look she gave him was soft, but very clear in its message. _I appreciate what you’re doing, but stop it right now._

“Chancellor,” she said, turning her attention back to the cleric. “I can only imagine the difficulties the Chantry is facing at the moment. Everyone mourns the loss of Divine Justinia and so many things we were once certain of have ceased to exist in the way that we know them. It is only natural to lash out at those around us.”

“Why... Yes…” the man replied, sputtering slightly.

“Once, the Inquisition worked together with the Chantry. Indeed, it is under the banner of united faith that order was brought in a time of complete chaos. It is our intention to do so now, if the Chantry is willing. In the meantime, all we have tried to do is bring some form of relief to the faithful who have turned to us in these desperate times. Surely this cannot be such a horrible thing while the Chantry tries to recover from the terrible loss it has suffered?”

The man’s already lined face became even more scrunched up as he looked at her in confusion. “I suppose —”

“Wonderful, I am so glad we have finally found some common ground. I will travel to Val Royeux in the upcoming days to talk to your colleagues, Chancellor. I hope I can count on your support while we try to find some way to work together.”

He stared at her a moment longer and glanced over to Cullen. Though the commander did his best to keep his face straight as long as the man was there, he found it hard to not look at Trevelyan slack-jawed himself.

They watched the Chancellor walk off, a distinct mystification radiating from him as he disappeared between the houses. Clearly he had not expected his rant to them to turn out quite the way it had. Cullen himself felt rather confused by the whole thing as well. No doubt if Trevelyan hadn't shown up he would've only provoked the man further. As little as he cared for the ways of the nobility, he couldn't deny their Herald's curbing of the Chancellor was somewhat impressive. The mysterious survivor had once again proven herself to be the epitome of grace and eloquence.

“Twat.”

As tame of an insult as it was - he heard far worse being spoken in the average training session - its source made it oddly powerful. Gone was the cultured voice and a distinct eastern accent shone through with an edge as sharp as his blade. Cullen looked to his side, half expecting to see some soldier or scout to have walked up to them who had spoken the word instead, but there hadn't. It was still lady Trevelyan standing next to him, her gaze fixed on where Roderick had gone off.

“Excuse me?” he asked, thinking for sure he must have misheard her.

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a small sideways smile. “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking something along those lines as well? You’ll embarrass me otherwise.”

“I was, yes.” Her smile grew into a proper smirk. “I am surprised you were though.”

“Leliana did her homework, but you don’t know everything about me, Commander,” she said, smiling somewhat smugly, her accent still flattening the pronunciation of her vowels.

“Clearly not,” he said, feeling the corner of his own mouth pull up as well.

“Let’s change that, shall we?” It wasn’t really a question, and she didn’t require an answer. “It would be a mistake to think the Game is something that is only played in parlors and ballrooms in Orlais, Commander, and being a part of this organization makes us players in it by default. I feel fairly certain that we are of the same opinion about that being the situation, but there is not much we can do to change it. So we play.” She returned her gaze towards where the Chancellor disappeared.

“Do you think you changed his mind?” he asked her.

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” she said simply. “But just because we cannot change his cards doesn’t mean we should show him our hand.” She looked at him from the corner of her eyes. “First lesson of the Grand Game, Commander,” she continued, once again using her flawless, cultured voice. “Never let your adversary know what you are truly thinking.” She inclined her head to him and though she kept her expression neutral, he couldn’t un-see the spark in her eye anymore as she turned and walked away.


	2. A Convict's Contemplations

_Damp room, moisture seeped into my clothing. Stone surface, cold. Underground? Joints stiff, muscles aching. How long have I been here? Two, three days?_

_Where is here? Hands shackled... a prison? Sting in my left hand... Pain shooting up through my arm. Disturbances in the Veil? Something magical then. Wonderful._

_Chafing of plating over leather, metal gate opening. Soldier. Rough hand, anger in his touch. Swords unsheathed, four or five._

_Shit, this thing really hurts._

Elsa opened her eyes, her knees stinging from how roughly the soldier had tossed her on the floor and a dull pain lingering from where his hand had grabbed her upper arm. A strange green glow lit up the dark room and she hissed at the source of it on her hand that cast an eerie glow on the moist walls. She glanced around her. Four blades it was then, all pointed in her direction.

_I’m in trouble._

Clearly she’d been brought from her cell for a reason and the men surrounding her kept glancing at the door. Whomever was about to come through it, there was no doubt in her mind that she’d better have a story ready for them. What had happened? She rapidly sped through her mind, recalling everything from the moment she left home.

_Midnight, wait for servants to finish their last round and retire to their quarters. Down the stairs, take Rona from the stables. Ride to Kirkwall and board a ship at dawn, leave the mare behind._

_Journey across the sea, by then they would have known I’d gone. Angry waves rocking the ship, fresh water spraying in my face. What had been the last time I felt something like it? Only a matter of time before they figure out where I’m heading._

_Rain pouring down, soaking my clothes. Rent a horse from a local stable, stay in roadside taverns while making the trek to Haven. Hand on my pouch, constantly checking if it’s still there._

_Arrive in the village, leave the horse with the army that had taken residence in the mountains. The Inquisition, a movement brought to life should the Conclave fail, or so the local blacksmith said. Had it? Are they my captors?_

_Bury the pouch, go up to the temple. No time to admire it, scan the lines of people following the path for Myca. His sharp cheeks, bright blue eyes and dark blond hair. So many faces, but his wasn’t there._

_The Conclave. A bunch of old men and women squabbling and bickering. For hours it went on, more ceremony than substance, no one willing to see the other’s viewpoint. The Lord Seeker wasn’t there, nor was the leader of the mage rebellion. Fitting... uproot the entire world structure and hide away in the shadows while others try to fix it. Raised voices in the background while I searched the hall, eyes flitting over the others focused on the discussion at the altar. Still nothing._

_A break was called... I went to search a different area. Ornate door, push it open to find... Push it open... to find..._

Everything seemed to freeze. There was nothing. Emptiness... a void. Her mind objected loudly to the realization. _It can’t be. Think harder._ She tried and tried to the point that it hurt, but she could not remember. The door was there, relatively new and probably placed in there when the temple was restored after its rediscovery ten years ago. A spiral pattern carved into the wood all around, depictions of the Threnodies in the centre, sculptures lining the stone frame. She had pushed it open, but after that… her memory was blank.

The door burst open and two women came in, one scowling at her like she had personally tied Andraste to the pyre, the other angling her head and eyeing her with a careful curiosity. _Seasoned warrior, symbol of the Seekers. The other is hardly audible next to the racket of the first. Delicate, hooded... probably a rogue._ The face of the first was striking... and very familiar.

“Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now,” said the Seeker. _Might want to tell me why you want to first, Nevarran._ “The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

The information shot through her mind like lightning. _Everyone is dead. Everyone is dead?! Only one survivor, guilty by default... Myca? Had he been there? Don’t focus on that... first I need to get out of here._

“I… I’m sorry,” she said timidly, glancing between the two women. “I don’t know what happened. All those people…?”

The warrior grabbed her hand and yanked it up. “Explain this!”

The thing crackled with energy and she cursed it silently. Maker, she hated not having a good answer.

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. Weak, but if this woman was who she thought she was, honesty might be the best way to go for the moment.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I don’t remember what happened. Please, I would tell you if I knew.”

The woman seized her by her shoulders and roughly shook her. “You’re lying!”

For a moment her body froze under the warrior’s aggressive touch and she pushed away the remnants of memories that it sent echoing through her mind. “I am not,” she said sternly, letting go of the weaker tone she’d kept up before. “And I would hope a Seeker does not jump to conclusions when talking to a suspect, lady Pentaghast.”

The glint that pulled through her eyes let Elsa know she had correctly identified the woman and that the fact that she had, had caught her off guard. “You know who I am?” she answered, relaxing her grip.

“I do. My name is Elsa of House Trevelyan. I remember your face from when you accompanied the Most Holy on her visit to the city of Ostwick in 9.36.”

“House Trevelyan?” The Orlesian accent confirmed that the other woman in the room was Sister Nightingale then, the other Hand of the Divine. She had pulled up her eyebrow and squinted slightly as she looked over their prisoner. “Your family has strong ties to the Chantry. Many of them attended the Conclave, did they not?”

“None of my direct family, but yes, several more distant members were scheduled to be there,” she replied, softening her voice. “If what you say is true, I can only assume that they have perished with all of the others. Please... I understand you want answers and I want to help, but I don’t even know what happened.”

Cassandra let go of her and got up, exchanging a glance with her colleague. “Do you remember anything?” Leliana asked.

Elsa tried again, but the gap in her memory was still as present as before. She strained her mind to draw any information from it, but all that surfaced was an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach, a tightening of the chest as if she’d been running, a glowing hand that reached out to her, and… thousands of eyes, staring at her from the dark. She shook her head and tried to explain the images to the women standing over her, but, unsurprisingly, neither looked convinced. _Can’t really blame you for that._

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” Cassandra said. “I’ll take her to the rift.”

 

Elsa blinked against the daylight and wondered for a moment if her vision had been screwed up by the time in the dungeon. There was a green tint to everything she saw, strange and otherworldly, but its source became clear as her eyes got used to doing their job again.

A rip in the sky, bellowing fire and crackling with electricity. She felt a dull swirl in her stomach, but pushed the feeling down and locked it away. “A tear in the Veil?” she asked.

Cassandra stared at the gaping hole. “Yes. We call it ‘the Breach’. It is not the only one, just the largest and it is expanding by the second. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Elsa said, letting her eyes drift over the heavens. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen. _If Casper and Hershel can see this from where they are now, they are freaking out._

Lightning struck from the chasm and the scar on her hand pulsed so suddenly it made her yell out and fall to her knees. _For the love of nugs, this thing is annoying!_

Cassandra’s voice actually had a note of concern in it when she explained of the mark. That it was their only hope of closing the Breach, that it was spreading, and that it was killing her. Elsa’s response did not need much consideration this time.

“Very well, my lady,” she replied. “Let us make haste then.”

“You will help us?” the Seeker asked.

“Of course.”

The dark eyes searched hers for a second, but then she helped her up and led her through the village. Though the atmosphere hadn’t been great when she first arrived, now it was abysmal. The injured lay lined up along the path and were being tended to by what seemed to be a single healer. The only thing that outnumbered them were the dead, collected further away from the camp and covered with tarp. The cries and wails from the wounded cut through bone and marrow and the very air was filled with hostility and despair. While there were not many people left to stare at her, their looks were impossible to misinterpret. They wanted her head.

Outside of the village, Cassandra saw fit to undo the ropes around her wrists and they began to make their way up the mountain. The mark continued to throb and crackle, but Elsa quickly got better at anticipating it and bit back the sharp pains. _Showing weakness now is not going to help._

While they crossed the bridge, the green hue covering the world began to intensify, until it grew into a dazzling flash. The stone rumbled and disappeared from under Elsa’s feet as she watched the soldiers in front of her get obliterated by the blast. She fell, tumbling overhead and crashing hard onto the ice below. Her face slammed against the frozen surface and she quickly threw her arms over her head to shield herself from the falling debris. Cassandra groaned next to her, before jumping to her feet, her gaze fixed on a point several meters away from them.

What Elsa had thought to be a rock striking down from the Breach had fallen into the valley with them and as she watched, it began to move and coil. It grew larger and separated, a grey smoke coiling around the segments. Demons - Shades if the sketches in her books were accurate - rose up, letting out piercing shrieks that sent trembles through the ice underneath her feet.

“Stay behind me,” Cassandra ordered. She didn’t need to say that twice. The demons focused their gaze on the warrior as she charged in. She was skilled, no doubt about it. Her shield was raised high, blocking one of the monsters that tried to claw its way towards her, while she engaged the other with her sword. Still, it was two-on-one, a tricky situation for anyone.

The tip of a bow sticking out of the rubble. Elsa quickly dug it out and searched the debris for an arrow. The dented quiver she found held some, though most were broken from the fall. She pulled one out that was still intact and took her position.

Looking down the shaft, she focused her gaze on the warrior, letting the arrow fly the moment she pulled her sword from one of the ghouls and stepped back to catch her breath. It struck the other demon in the head and it shrieked, clawing at its face until it seemed to collapse in on itself and vanished.

“Drop your —”

She had already placed the bow on the floor and stepped away, holding up her hands. Cassandra stared at her, her hand with her sword suspended in the air, her eyebrow pulled up high.

“If I wished you harm, my arrow would have found a different target, lady Cassandra,” Elsa said calmly. “I was taught how to hunt when I was six. I am a rather good shot.”

She continued to stare at her a while longer before she sheathed her sword. “You need more arrows,” she said simply. They searched the rubble together until the battered quiver was somewhat filled and continued on through the valley.

The rift Cassandra had mentioned before was minute compared to the looming gash overhead, yet it still had a strange pull around it as it sizzled and pulsed. Elsa did her best to ignore the thing and instead focused on the fight going on around it.

Next to a few soldiers were an elven mage and a dwarf with a crossbow. The elf was so silent you’d hardly notice him, which somehow made the strength of his spells all the more impressive. _Simple clothes, practical staff. Someone who travels, alone and understated._ The dwarf was another story. _Slight tan to the skin, probably a surfacer. Unusual crossbow._ While she tried to make every arrow of her limited supply count for as much as possible, he seemed to shoot a lot more haphazardly. Undoubtedly this reckless behavior was only reinforced by the odd construction of the peculiar weapon he carried. She’d never liked crossbows for how heavy and sluggish they were in reloading, but this one shot faster than any she’d ever held.

Cassandra charged ahead, while Elsa stayed away from the thick of the fighting and focused on providing cover for the brazen warrior. Given her position and the fact that she was starting to warm up to her, the Divine’s Right Hand seemed to be her best bet in making it out of this alive. It would be most unfortunate if she died.

The moment the last demon got felled - wether it was the flurry of bolts from the dwarf or her own arrow that pierced the thing through the chest, she couldn’t tell - the mage advanced on her, grabbed her wrist and lifted it up to the sky. The rift shriveled and snapped closed with a crack.

She stared at her scarred hand. _I’m not getting out of here any time soon._ “What is this thing?” she asked, more to herself than anyone else.

“That is something we can only theorize at,” the elf said softly. “It did, however, enable you to close the rift.”

“Good, here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” The dwarf came towards her and eyed her with an amused interest. _Kirkwall accent and... Maker, that is a lot of chest hair... Wait._ “Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

She blinked. _Varric Tethras? Varric Tethras?! How often had she not seen that name, traced it on the spines of the books lining the shelf, wondered at the author who had provided her with such a welcome escape from her own world?_

“You’re kidding me?” Her accent shone through in her enthusiasm and she quickly snapped her mouth shut.

He raised his eyebrows. “No, my jokes are usually better than just stating my name. Free Marcher then, are you?”

_Maker, he’s quick. It hadn’t been that clear._ “Yes,” she smiled, her voice reined in again. “Elsa Trevelyan of Ostwick. My apologies. I have all of your books. I did not expect to ever meet you, let alone in a situation such as this.”

“Well, will you listen to that?” he smirked, glancing over at Cassandra. “Isn’t that nice?”

The warrior huffed and turned away, though her eyes lingered on Elsa for a moment.

“I am Solas, if introductions are to be had,” the elf said. In her flash of excitement she had almost forgotten about the quiet man again. He was by far the hardest to read so far, but his expression was friendly. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’,” Varric added.

“Ma serannas,” she said, inclining her head. “I am in your debt.”

He returned the gesture and Cassandra cleared her throat from behind. “Lady Trevelyan —”

“Elsa, please.”

“… Elsa. We should continue.”

A short exchange followed in which the Seeker rejected the dwarf’s offer to come along and he couldn’t care less about her objections, and they went on their way.

Both Solas and Varric seemed less inclined to believe her guilty than anyone else so far, which gave some comfort. The rogue talked quite animatedly with her while they made their way through the valley and to her relief she managed to not get too flustered by talking to her favorite author.

“So, are you innocent?” he asked her without ceremony as they began to climb a snow-covered staircase.

“I… don’t remember what happened,” she sighed, still extremely annoyed this was the case. For someone who relied on her mind as much as she did, having a chunk of it missing was extremely disconcerting.

“Starting off a tale with amnesia is such a cliché,” he smirked. “No one is going to believe that. Should’ve spun a story.”

“My tale did not start today,” she smiled. She would only understand much later how untrue that was.

 

Another rift and an encounter with a disgruntled cleric later, she found herself climbing up the mountain with a new, full quiver from the forward camp slung over her back. The cold had been annoying so far to say the least, but began to bite into her skin more and more. Her clothes were hardly fit for being outside at this altitude without being sheltered by a temple, not to even mention the dampness of the dungeon that had seeped into them. She suppressed a shiver and increased her pace as she slogged up the hill after Cassandra. The sooner they closed this thing, the better.

She paused when they reached the camp, and for a moment she didn’t feel the cold winds that streaked past and cut into her face. It was only now, standing at the top of the stairs, that she realized the extent to which her mind had been in denial, perhaps even shock. Despite the Breach being a constant in the sky, seeing the extent of the damage to the temple up close suddenly made the situation feel real.

There had been paintings and carvings so intricate she could not possibly commit all their details to memory, as much as she might have tried. The vaulted ceilings had towered above her head, making her stare in awe and wonder at how such a building would even be constructed now, let alone ages ago. The tiling on the floor had been polished to a shine, showing the most brilliant colors laid in elaborate patterns. Now it was gone. All of it... lost forever.

Beyond the broken wall were the sounds of a fight and while Cassandra checked the situation with one of the soldiers, she climbed up to gain a better view of the scene ahead. She knelt down, casting a short glance at a statue of Andraste only a few meters away with part of its face missing, and scanned the field.

Demons were spilling from a rift in the middle of the entrance hall. The movements of the soldiers seemed unfocused and weak as they engaged them, while some of them were simply fighting on half capacity or less and carried wounds ranging from severe to close to mortal.

She watched one make a haphazard dash across the field in an attempt to protect another who had fallen down. _Stance and grip on the shield... Templar, but not wearing the armor. Patterns on the plating, distinct cloak. Definitely not one simply meant against the cold._ The man engaged the demon, though his reckless move had left him in a tight position. Within a second she had pulled an arrow from her quiver, laid it against the bow, and moved into position, drawing back her elbow as she tightened the string.

The world slowed down with her exhale. Her fingers brushed the skin under her chin, the thin rope touching her nose and lips as she looked down the shaft of the arrow. _Back straight, grip relaxed, breath steady._ She rolled her shoulders back at the memory of the sharp snap of the leather strap her teacher had used to correct her stance. _Wait for the opportune moment. Never shoot unless you’re sure of your kill._ The knight pushed back the monster with his shield and moved his head to the side just a fraction. Her fingers released the string and the arrow flashed through the air, taking down the monster with a single shot.

Solas motioned for her to come down when the soldiers rushed the last demon on the field. The moment they took it down, she lifted her hand. The mark stung uncomfortably as it snapped the rift shut, but calmed down the moment it had done its job. She stared at the green glow, not sure what she felt towards the addition to her body. Varric came to stand next to her and followed her eyes, before glancing up at her face.

“You doing okay, Sterling?”

“Sterling?” she asked, looking at him in surprise. “Isn’t that a little on the nose?”

“If it fits, it fits,” he replied, shrugging. “I’m not going to make it more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Very well,” she chuckled. “I’m fine, thank you.” She glanced across the field to where Cassandra was being approached by the man in the unusual armor. “Do you know who that is?” she asked Varric, inclining her head a fraction.

He followed her gaze and raised his eyebrows. “Ah, you mean Curly?”

“Curly?” She let her eyes drift over the man that was now scowling at her. _Not in the armor, but wearing the sword on his vambraces? Dark circles under his sunken eyes, a large bruise extending from under his cuirass. Handsome under the layer of grime covering his face, to be sure, though not helped by the expression of resentment as he stared at her like she was the embodiment of the plague. Blond hair, a few shades lighter than Myca’s, but wavy more so than curly._

“He used to have it shorter,” Varric said to explain the logic behind the nickname.

Cassandra was now looking at her as well, though fortunately no longer sharing the glare the knight was giving her. Elsa walked over to them, keeping her expression neutral with what she hoped was the appropriate amount of friendliness for meeting the angry templar. Though Cassandra seemed to have little patience for manners and ceremony, she facilitated the introduction between Elsa and the man before her, though he continued to glare at her with suspicion as he sized her up.

“I hope they’re right about you.” _Like it’s my fault if they aren’t._ “We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

_Ferelden, this one. If they all walk into a bar together we have the setup for a joke._ “I’ll do my best not to let their sacrifice be in vain, Commander... ?”

“... Cullen.”

Everything in his stance, his manner, and his voice, screamed ‘templar’. She knew the type, perhaps better than she cared to, though to see one separated from his Order was unusual. The distrust in his eyes did not let up and she decided to leave him be for the moment. Not only were there matters more pressing, trying to wrangle an unwilling nug was never more than a waste of energy. She returned the blessing he begrudgingly bestowed upon them with a smile, before they parted ways and she stored her observations of the weary knight away for another time.

 

They walked past the disfigured remains of others that had attended the Conclave, no longer recognizable as templar, mage or cleric, or even as man or woman. Elsa swallowed as they exited the passage and she looked up at the sky. The Breach loomed overhead, a flaming chasm that tore at the fabric of the world, and the uncomfortable stirring in her abdomen slowly fought its way to the surface, no longer willing to be ignored. What used to be the grand hall, was no more than a gaping pit. _Andraste, give me strength._

Carefully, they made their way down. “Don’t touch that, Sterling,” Varric said sharply when he noticed her looking at the crackling red crystal that was growing out of the walls and floors. “That stuff is trouble.”

“What is it?” she asked, looking down at him. He had been so confident before, aloof almost, but now he glanced around him with shifty eyes. His fingers were tight around his crossbow, his burly shoulders tense.

“Lyrium, but not the kind you see the Chantry handing out,” he said gruffly. “It makes people go completely off their rocker.”

“Lyrium?” she murmured. Though it was not something one encountered on a daily basis, with three brothers in the Order and two more who had followed the training she’d seen her share of the crystal. It had felt completely different than the stuff pulsing around them now. She carefully stepped around the deposits, ignoring the unidentifiable whispers, as they continued their descent.

A booming voice cut through the air and she looked around for the source. There was no clear one to be found, though it seemed to be coming from the throbbing crystal hanging in the sky. It continued to speak, growing louder the closer they got, and was joined by one she recognized from the Conclave as well as one much closer to home.

“That was your voice,” Cassandra said softly, staring at her in astonishment. “Most Holy called out to you, but...”

Elsa looked at the crystal where shades of memories seemed to be forming in the air. Memories that seemingly should be hers, but weren’t. She watched herself walk through the door that formed such a blockade in her own mind, stumbling upon a scene that did not seem real. A tall creature, a shadow with eyes that glowed white, holding the Divine in its grasp. _What in the Void happened here?_

She did not like the notion of opening the rift that hung in front of them one bit, but she raised her hand at Solas’ encouragement. The mark did not seem to need her input as it connected to the fissure.

Nothing in any book she’d ever read could have prepared her for the Pride Demon. She stood petrified, staring at the monster that had come charging through the rift. There was an arrow in her hand, but she did not feel the wood between her fingers. The creature was immediately engaged by the archers lining the walls and the soldiers swarming it under Cassandra’s leadership. They managed to keep it away from her, though on occasion it unleashed an attack that reached far across the field. It was only by luck that she didn’t get hit, for it felt like her feet had been nailed to the ground.

She got snapped out of her trance by the smaller demons homing in on her location, seeing her as an easy target without the protection of a warrior. Panic gripped her heart for a brief moment and she frantically searched the area for higher ground to reach, but there was nothing. The demons rushed her, getting closer and closer, until her mother’s sharp voice cut through her mind like a knife. _The moment you falter, all will be lost. Fear has no place in a world like ours._ Solas’ frost magic fixed one of the demons in place while she readied her shot in a flash, piercing the other through the throat when its claws were mere inches from her face.

The giant went down with a howl and the mark seemed to pull itself towards the rift above her head. Her hand lurched forward on its own accord and she grabbed on to her wrist, tears filling her eyes at the searing pain flashing through her fingers and shooting up her arm. Her gut simmered and swirled and she focused all her effort on keeping her body under control, until her mind succumbed to the scorching agony and faded to black.


	3. An Unexpected Kindness

While the day she woke up in a prison cell was weird, this one had managed to outdo it. It had started similar, with her waking in an unknown location after an undeterminable amount of time. How often was this still going to happen? At least this time her clothes had been dry and she’d been lying on a bed instead of a wet, stone floor. But it had only gotten stranger after that.

She’d made her way to the Chantry, feeling not at all at ease without Cassandra’s protection, though the feeling proved to be unnecessary. While the looks she had gotten before were close to homicidal, now they were mixes of awe and curiosity. She kept her head high as she walked through the crowds gathering around to catch a glimpse of her, keeping her expression neutral and mustering up as much dignity as she could with her unkempt appearance until she knew what in the Void was going on.

Her decision to stay with the Inquisition for the moment was easily made. First, it was hard to leave when you carried the only possible solution to a problem that threatened to destroy the world without looking like an ass. Second, since the Chantry still wanted her head it seemed rather unwise to leave the protection of those who no longer did. And third... while she clung to her hope that Myca had not been at the Conclave, it wasn’t like she had any clue where to look for him next.

As the former Hands of the Divine were busy with whatever was involved in declaring an Inquisition reborn, Elsa managed to find a wash basin and pay a visit to a most obliging blacksmith. Like most craftsmen he seemed like an uncomplicated sort of man, someone with good skills and great pride in his work. He was only too happy to outfit her with something more suitable for their location and she went back to the cabin to change into the light leather armor and comfortable underclothing that he’d provided her with. She made sure to visit him after and show off the outfit with a twirl, making him beam with pride as she praised his work. Sometimes it was nice not having to play.

Once she felt a bit more like herself again, she took a seat by the fire with Varric. He was an easy conversation partner and as keen an observer as she was, if not more so. It was a win-win, really. He clearly loved to hear himself talk and she enjoyed listening to the voice that she’d pictured in her mind whenever she’d read one of his stories. In addition to that, with everything that had happened, it was surprisingly nice to talk to someone from close to home.

“So, tell me,” he said, after they’d finished swapping stories from their travel across the sea. “What’s with the voice?”

“Voice?” she asked. “Whose?”

“Yours, Sterling. Must take effort to talk like that. Also the whole standing up straight and walking without bobbing your head, though I guess that got rammed into you from birth. But why go through the trouble of hiding your accent when everyone knows you’re a Free Marcher anyway?”

“Same reason the images on the back of your books look nothing like you,” she replied with a smile. “Or do you spend a lot of time surrounded by women with their hands up your copious amounts of body hair?”

“Not as much as I should,” he chuckled. “So it’s really just about appearances?”

“You’d be surprised how important it is to some,” she said, shrugging.

“Oh, I know.” He observed her for a moment with his eyebrow raised. “I definitely picked the right name for you, Sterling.”

Her attention was drawn to a blur of red passing by the gate. “You didn’t tell me in the end. How do you know the commander?”

“Ah,” he replied, following her eyes. There were soldiers training outside the tents, though the man that had caught her attention had disappeared from view. “Curly. Former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall.”

She cast him a sidelong glance. “Really? That’s Cullen Rutherford? Second in command to Meredith Stannard?”

His bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’ve heard of him?”

“A bit,” she murmured, frowning as she stared at the fence that the former Knight-Commander had disappeared behind. “There was more talk of Meredith, of course, but his name was mentioned as well. He retaliated against her when she called the annulment of the Circle, correct?”

“Not quite,” Varric said thoughtfully. “He was a part of that, but he turned on her when she came after Hawke.”

At this she snapped her head back to look at him. “He came to the defense of an apostate who sided with the mages in the Circle?” she asked, astonished.

“Hawke was an apostate, but also the hero of Kirkwall,” Varric said lightly. “My guess is he didn’t agree with the annulment, but it took Meredith calling for Hawke’s head for him to see that she had completely lost her senses. He’s a grouch, but not a bad guy.”

“Huh...” she mumbled. The commander appeared again and walked past them towards the Chantry, casting her a short glance in passing. It was no less mistrustful than it had been three days ago. “Interesting.”

“Are you being taken in by the golden locks and the stick up his ass as well?” Varric smirked. “I think Hawke always had a soft spot for him too.”

“No,” she chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

 

_No, definitely not._

The suspicion was still written across his face when he looked at her from across the war table. It wasn’t hard to see why the Champion of Kirkwall might have had an interest in the man. He was good-looking, definitely more so now that he’d slept and cleaned himself up, and she wondered to which extent he was aware of his own looks. Of the people in the room he seemed to be the only one who still had an issue with her though, and it was starting to get on her nerves. Fortunately she didn’t need his approval with the backing of Cassandra and Leliana, but she could do perfectly well without the watchful stare of a paranoid templar.

Cassandra introduced the man more properly to her this time around and he seemed to be making a conscious effort to be polite. Yet his eyes kept darting between hers, trying to find something in them she was far too skilled in hiding.

“Pardon me,” she said, testing his response, “but would you be the former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall?” He was, of course, but she guessed this man would not appreciate her having found out as much by talking with Varric. He blinked in surprise, confirmed his identity, and proved himself unaccustomed to receiving a compliment. _See how nice I am? Ponder that, Commander._

Josephine - _Antivan… seriously? Just a Tevinter and a Rivaini to complete the set now_ \- was the closest of her new acquaintances as to what she was used to, though her happy manner was an interesting change. Back home you were lucky if you could get a chortle out of a conversation partner, but she smiled so brightly it was a little perplexing.

After introductions, they got to discussing the plans of closing the Breach that Cassandra had mentioned. Elsa had not liked the suggestion of powering up the mark on her hand at all and Leliana’s plan to involve the rebel mages did not make it sound any more appealing. The searing pain through her body when she tried to close the Breach was still sharp in her memory and she wasn’t keen on having a bunch more magic added to that.

“And I still disagree. The templars could serve just as well.”

Of course it would be the man who didn’t trust a hair on her head to offer this option. If they indeed contacted the templars it could possibly lead her to Myca. Not to mention she liked the idea of a plan that did not involve her becoming a funnel in some magical experiment. He seemed to be on the losing side of the argument however, with Cassandra and Leliana being in agreement and Josephine remaining silent on the matter. _Tread carefully now…_ Leliana cast her a long look when she spoke up, not portraying any emotion one way or another, while the templar looked at her in surprise before quickly adjusting his expression. _A for effort, Commander._

The conversation continued and they further explained to her how she had gotten her reputation as Andraste’s ‘Herald’. While Cassandra seemed to have no doubt in her mind about this new identity, her own conclusions were a bit more careful. Though she could not explain the memory of the glowing woman reaching out to her, or how she managed to be the only person to get out of an explosion of that magnitude alive, it was hard to believe it was actually providence at the root of it. Of all people, why would Andraste feel the need to save _her_?

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it?” His voice pulled her from her thoughts and she found him observing her, his brow furrowed and his head angled a fraction to the side. “How do you feel about that?”

_Well, aren’t you precious?_ She prevented the smile that spread across her mind from spilling over to her face. The challenge in his words was clear and something inside of her, childish as it was, felt the immediate urge to take him up on it. She had her answer ready within a second, but took her time to deliver the line. He huffed a laugh in response and though she could tell he wasn’t quite convinced of her yet, she had passed his test for now.

 

* * *

 

 Elsa had planned to enjoy their trip to the Hinterlands. Now that she was no longer a prisoner or dying, it had dawned on her that she was somewhere that wasn’t her home or the streets of Ostwick. While she’d intended to make the most of that fact, she only managed to do so for a very short time. They got swarmed the moment they approached The Crossroads where they were meant to find Mother Giselle and though the mages attacking them were scary, the deranged looks on the templars’ faces were far more disturbing.

She stood next to Varric, who seemed oddly comfortable with shooting people, though from reading his _Tale of the Champion_ that perhaps should not have come as such a surprise. Cassandra’s skills as a Seeker made mage and templar bend before her, the ruthless determination on her face making her too suddenly quite frightening, and Solas’ eyes glazed over with a feral hardness as he silently sent his deadliest spells at their adversaries. All Elsa could do was stand still as a statue, clutching her bow and arrow, and stare at the madness transpiring in front of her.

As the last of their enemies - because she clearly had enemies now, and they were so far more openly than any she might have had before - went down, she felt the thick fingers of the dwarf tentatively touch her trembling arm. “You all right, Sterling?”

_No. No, no, no. A million times, no._ She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, placing the unused arrow back inside her quiver. “I’m fine,” she smiled, her voice steady. “I guess this is not something I’m used to quite yet.”

Cassandra cast her a concerned look. “I certainly don’t want to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” she said, “but given the situation here, we can use another archer to level the field.”

Elsa nodded, resisting the urge to swallow. “My apologies. I will do better next time.”

To her relief, there were ways she could help the refugees gathered in the valley in ways she was more familiar with, like shooting game for food and collecting herbs for the healers. Mother Giselle proved to be a gentle soul, and for the moment Elsa decided to share her hope that the clerics would listen to reason, if only to have something to hope for after experiencing the chaos from before.

There was only so much they could achieve in the village before they had to press on however, and that night she sat in her tent, recalling the memories of the mages and templars rushing them, committed to repeat the images in her mind until she grew desensitized to them. She had her bow and arrow in her hand, readying a shot as she imagined the knights running towards her, picturing her arrows striking the weak spots in their armor.

It was deep into the night by the time she gave up on her rather disturbing meditation in which she envisioned killing templars over and over, and shook out her head and arms to get rid of the tension in her muscles from repeatedly pulling her bow on the empty insides of her tent. She placed the weapon next to her and glanced around, not feeling particularly tired in spite of the long day.

Her bag was lying in the corner and she reached into it to grab a piece of vellum and a quill and ink, remembering Cassandra’s request of reporting their findings back to the Inquisition’s leadership at Haven. Though she thought it made more sense for the Seeker to report on matters herself, she’d gotten the impression Cassandra didn’t like writing much and hadn’t pressed it further. While she was a reader more than a writer, she quite enjoyed the practice from time to time. There was a certain art to putting things into words and writing in a way that did not lead to misinterpretation, a challenge one did not have to the same extent in direct conversation. Furthermore, getting some of the images of the day out of her head and onto paper might help ease her mind just a bit.

She stared at the parchment, tapping the quill against her lip while she pondered where to begin. Though the others would likely read it too, her report would be addressed to the commander, since he was ultimately in charge of requisitions, resource management, and the volunteers that had started their journey to Haven after meeting with Cassandra and herself.

It was quite staggering, the amount of responsibilities that seemed to be resting on his shoulders. She had some idea of them, since Hershel had often complained about such tasks in his position as knight-commander whenever he visited them at home. Most likely the two jobs were similar, though clearly both involved tasks that were not applicable to the other.

Perhaps this was something she could ask him about when they got back to Haven. Now that he had shown himself to be the only one interested in contacting the templars, she had more incentive to get on his good side. People usually appreciated it when you showed an interest in their work, though she was beginning to wonder how much of her regular tactics were going to be effective on the suspicious knight. He wasn’t stupid, nor did he seem to be a prideful man or one with aspirations to wealth or power, which would have been easy traits to appeal to. With a swish she dipped the quill in the ink, shook the excess off, and began to write.

> _Commander Rutherford,_
> 
>   _Saying the situation in the Hinterlands is bad would be a gross understatement. Though we encountered little resistance on our journey to The Crossroads, we got caught in the fighting between mages and templars the moment we walked into the area. Both factions have those among them that seemingly have traded away all reason, having replaced it with hatred and madness while they kill anyone who gets in their way. Their opinion of the Inquisition is far from favorable, both seeing the organization as an arm of the Chantry trying to bring them back into the fold._
> 
>   _I am pleased to say that we have managed to help the villagers and refugees that have gathered here, and the area has been somewhat stabilized by the Inquisition’s presence. While there are many wounded, we were able to tend to their most immediate needs and provide them with food and blankets. Many of them will travel on to Haven as soon as they have recovered some of their strength, for these lands are still far from safe. You should expect the first of them to arrive within a week, which hopefully gives you enough time to prepare for their coming._
> 
>   _Mother Giselle has suggested that we travel to Val Royeux in order to appeal to the clerics. While Chancellor Roderick does not inspire confidence in the Chantry’s willingness to listen, seeing the bloodshed around here makes me pray that diplomacy will bring results. Tomorrow we shall continue on in the direction of Redcliffe Farms to find the Master of Horses you spoke of, as well as attempt to close some of the rifts to have been reported in this area. It is my hope that in my next report I will be able to tell you that we have been successful in both this and securing horses for the army. Once we have, Cassandra plans to come back to Haven and reevaluate our situation, before traveling to Orlais._
> 
>   _While personal sentiments undoubtedly have little place in a formal report (and I would be most grateful if you could instruct me on the proper format for future correspondence), I hope you will forgive me if this letter is also a bit of a sounding board for me while I try to process all the impressions we have gathered since we left. While Ostwick did not have the same issues as Kirkwall, there was the occasional incident with rebel mages. Although the mages here are far more aggressive than those ever were, it is an image I am at least somewhat familiar with. Seeing the templars stray this far from their path, however, is extremely disconcerting and I am ashamed to say I completely froze on the battlefield as a result. Though I do not wish to pry in your private affairs, it is my understanding that you are originally from this part of the land and have served at Kinloch Hold. I very much hope none of your former colleagues or family are caught within this chaos. In case they are, my thoughts go out to them and you._
> 
>   _Kind regards,_
> 
> _Elsa Trevelyan_
> 
> _Signed on the third day of Drakonis, 9.41 Dragon_

She read the letter several times, wondering if the last paragraph was a good idea or not. It hadn’t been in her plan to write it, but the words had come out anyway as she recalled the visions of the day. Seeing them out in the open made her feel a little better and though she wondered if her inadequacy in combat would reflect badly on her, she concluded that it was unlikely the information would worsen his opinion of her further. She watched the ink dry as she scanned the letter a few more times, before rolling it up and sealing it.

 

They had not been traveling long along the road leading west the next day before they encountered more combat. Elsa breathed nervously as she watched Cassandra dash forward, though the lone warrior was not enough to keep all the templars away from her and the others. Solas cast a quick glance in her direction.

“Stay behind me, my friend,” he said softly, before moving forward as well.

Perhaps the templars had not had access to lyrium since they separated from the Chantry, or Solas was simply very skilled in countering their counter-abilities, for the thin barrier surrounding him seemed to be keeping them at bay well enough. Still, the risk he put himself in was clear and she took a deep breath, readying her arrow.

Her first shot landed right between the helmet and the cuirass, piercing the briefly exposed neck. The templar clawed at the projectile that had skewered his throat, sputtering and choking on the blood coming out of his mouth. He tripped on a root as he stumbled backwards and fell down, continuing to struggle and twitch for what seemed like an eternity. She stared at him, her mind blank, until Varric’s voice snapped her out of it.

“Heads up, Sterling!”

Another knight came running towards them, his sword high in anticipation, his feet stomping hard on the ground. The wood of the arrow scraped against the rest as she pulled back her elbow.

“Blessed are they,” she whispered against the string, “who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.”

The emblem on his chest was dull and stained with blood.

“Blessed are the peacekeepers.”

His eyes were visible through the visor, a mad hatred shining within them.

“Champions of the just.”

The string released with a snap. The knight dropped his sword when he reached for his face, taking several more steps before he fell to his knees only a few yards away from her. Blood poured from his helmet, down his arms and chest, and he howled in pain, before collapsing and going still.

_How the mighty have fallen._

 

Elsa was not in the mood to spend much time with her companions that evening when they made camp. Master Dennet had given them a list of requests before he would even consider handing them as much as a crippled mule. Her arrows had felled a lot more people after the first two templars and, with their voices and faces still lingering in her mind, she had felt little desire to negotiate with the man, so she had simply agreed to his demands. Possibly seeing her weariness, he had allowed them to sleep in the loft of his barn and she found some comfort in spreading her bedroll over a soft pile of hay instead of the hard ground she’d been sleeping on for the past nights. Just as she was about to close her eyes, listening to Varric’s snores coming from further away, the rustling of wings approached in the dark.

A raven with a scroll tied to its leg landed next to her and eagerly hopped closer so she could untie the message. It took flight the moment she did and settled on one of the wooden beams above her head. _One of these days I’ll have to ask Leliana how she trains these birds._ She unrolled the scroll to find two sheets of paper, one with a letter addressed to her and another which seemed to be a report about resource gathering by someone stationed in a different part of the Hinterlands. Putting the report aside for the moment, she flattened the letter in front of her and pulled the lantern closer to read the message.

> _Lady Trevelyan,_
> 
>   _While you are correct in your assumption that it is best to avoid expressing personal opinions or feelings in a military report, I would not wish for you to keep any thoughts to yourself that cause you distress. As far as the correct formatting goes, I have attached a copy of a report that I received a few days ago as a reference for future writings. I would urge you to stick to this structure to keep communications running efficiently, but rest assured that the first part of your letter was very informative and clear in its message. You seem to have a real aptitude with words and there is not much you will need to alter in the future. Anything else that you wish to express could be included in a more informal document such as this._
> 
>   _In response to your last paragraph, please do not feel ashamed for needing time to adapt to the sights of war. It is easy for me to forget that there are people such as yourself who are not used to situations like these and it is only natural to feel disturbed by them. I share your shock at the behavior some templars are portraying these days. During the last months in Kirkwall I have had to deal with many men under my command developing similar sentiments and it saddens me to say that I did not always succeed in keeping them on the right path. It was an ugly process to witness, to say the least._
> 
>   _Finally, I want to thank you for your concern, though you do not need to worry. Fortunately my family moved away from the region many years ago and I did not leave any friends behind in Ferelden. It is unlikely you have encountered anyone of my acquaintance in your travels, which is a small blessing. From what I gather, you have several brothers who are in the Order. I had assumed they are back in the Free Marches, but do not know if this is actually the case. Either way, seeing their colleagues reduced to this state must make this all the more difficult for you. Maker watch over you and I pray for your strength and safe return._
> 
>   _Kind regards,_
> 
> _Commander Cullen_
> 
> _Signed on the fourth day of Drakonis, 9.41 Dragon_

She cast a quick glance at the report he’d included. It was the same handwriting, meaning he had taken the time to copy it from the original himself instead of letting someone under his command do it for him. It was a clear document and indeed the way she had described her experiences was not too far removed from it, though the information was organized differently and a little dryer than she liked. Still, if this was what he was used to, she could make it work.

The report was hardly the most interesting of the two, so she flung it aside again and refocused on the letter. There was a lot of information in there and after the day she’d had, it was an enjoyable distraction to try and unravel the Inquisition’s commander.

_Lady Trevelyan._ Most likely she would remain that until she urged him to call her otherwise, though he had not signed with his own last name, despite her addressing him as such. Commander Cullen did have a nice ring to it, though it was probably just a templar habit and not a sign that he specifically wished for her to call him that. They mainly seemed to use first names in the Order, perhaps to avoid confusion with families such as her own where multiple family members served in the same Circle, or maybe to make the templars appear more human towards their charges.

_You seem to have a real aptitude with words..._ She chuckled at the comment, feeling quite sure he was not so much referring to her letter, as he was to the meeting they’d had in the war room.

_... I did not leave any friends behind._ In the letter it was mentioned as a positive, yet she felt a sadness creep into her chest as she read the words. Though the commander seemed like a private man, it was likely not by choice that he left his home country friendless.

Overall, his tone, though professional, was much friendlier than she had anticipated. While she had failed to prevent her companions from noticing her discomfort, she hadn’t wished to discuss it. It had nothing to do with who they were or wether she trusted them, it was simply not something that she did. Writing it down and sending it off to someone over a hundred miles away had been unusual, but easier. The commander’s offer for her to share her concerns with him seemed to be coming from something more than politeness, though there was of course the possibility he simply wished to prevent their key to close the Breach from losing her marbles.

Honesty was not usually a strategy in the Game, for anything that you revealed might be turned against you in a heartbeat, but the little things she’d shared seemed to have resonated with the man. Sharing anything about her that wasn’t carefully crafted made her stomach swirl uncomfortably, though it was starting to seem like it might just be her only option in getting the knight to start trusting her a little.

She grabbed another piece of vellum and her writing utensils from her bag and wrote a formal document detailing their day to him, as well as a quick reply on another sheet. The raven came down from his perch just when she had finished rolling up the scroll, and she attached it to its leg. She extinguished her lantern and closed her eyes, faintly noticing how the commander’s letter had chased the images of the day from her mind, while the black wings carried her words back to him through the night.

> _Commander Cullen,_
> 
>   _Thank you for the swift reply and taking the time to copy over the report for my reference. While it does not make for a riveting read, I see the need for objectivism and clear communication. Included with this note you will find my findings of the day and I pray my communication skills live up to your expectations._
> 
>   _Reading your kind words has given me comfort this evening and I thank you for your concern. Please know that I am feeling better at present and find myself beginning to grow accustomed to our current situation. Although I will refrain from burdening anyone else with my comparably small problems henceforth, I do want to express my appreciation for your listening ear and hope I might return the favor some day if needed._
> 
>   _Kind regards,_
> 
> _Elsa_
> 
> _Signed on the fifth day of Drakonis, 9.41 Dragon_


	4. Prayers and Punches

It was an odd sensation to ride back into the village after how long they’d been gone. Even though she had only spent a few days there before they left, Elsa was surprised to find it felt a little like coming home. The blacksmith raised his hand in greeting and several others smiled and nodded when they came riding by. She dismounted the horse bestowed upon her by Dennet and patted the friendly bay on his neck. She missed her own mount, but the gelding was a steady animal that made her feel secure when he carried her. With training, she hoped the charger might become as responsive to her commands as Rona was, though he’d probably never equal the mare’s nimble movements. Still, he was infinitely better than the old nag that she’d left Haven on.

Scanning the grounds, she recognized several faces from their travels and she was glad to see so many of the people they’d encountered had made it to Haven. It would seem the commander had not let time go to waste as most of them seemed to be busy with whatever work he’d assigned to them. The man himself was nowhere to be seen at the moment and though she’d planned to greet him upon their return, she decided it could wait for the moment. _Better if I clean myself up first anyway._

She made her way to the cabin where she had woken up almost a month ago and that was now designated as her private quarters. It wasn’t until she stepped inside and closed the door behind her that she noticed just what a luxury that was. She’d spent most of her days alone in Ostwick, save for meal times. Of course there were the society events and she might have enjoyed the company there, had the guests actually attended with the intention to be friendly instead of quietly judging and evaluating each other over the pretense of small talk.

Even with the horrors she’d witnessed since she stumbled into the Inquisition, spending the last thirty days or so with Cassandra, Varric and Solas had been... fun. But although sitting around the fire with them in the evening and listening to Varric’s stories gave her more pleasure than anything else in recent memory, the sudden change from complete solitude to constant companionship had also been very taxing. Fortunately the Seeker and the mage required their own share of quiet time, and Varric had the keen sense to know when it was time to stop talking. Still, being alone for a moment in a space with walls thicker than canvas to separate it from the outside was a relief.

With a fire burning in the hearth to warm the cold insides of the hut, she began to remove her armor. As she unwrapped the pieces of cloth, undid the clasps, and removed the layers of clothing, she began to notice just how much her body had changed since she left home. She’d lost weight and faint muscle lines shone under her skin where at first there had simply been soft tissue. Her constitution had gotten much better over the last weeks as well, though it had happened so gradually she’d hardly noticed. One day she’d turned around to look back down a hill they’d just climbed and noticed that for the first time she wasn’t out of breath. Varric had smirked at her and she’d quickly adjusted her expression, realizing that she hadn’t noticed the wide grin that had spread across her face.

In anticipation of her return, a clean towel and jug of water had been placed upon the table. To her surprise the water was warm, and she wondered who had arranged placing it there so perfectly in time with their arrival. Josephine was the one most likely to have anticipated that she would want to wash properly after camping outside for a month, but she was not in charge of personnel. She could have passed along the request to the commander... Or had he thought of it himself? Elsa poured the water out into the basin and grabbed the clean washcloth that lay next to it.

She took her time to scrub her pale skin, paying extra attention to all the spots she’d neglected whenever she had taken a quick dip in a freezing river or lake in the Hinterlands. There were a few bruises on her arms and legs where branches had snapped against them, or from the times she’d tripped or lost her footing. It was definitely much harder to be graceful out in the country.

The cleaner her body became, the darker the water grew, and she had to change it before washing her hair. The wet strands lay over her shoulder and she rubbed soap into them with her hands, before turning around and bending over backwards to rinse them out.

By the time she was done removing everything that she’d dragged with her from the Hinterlands it was the end of the afternoon, and though she’d enjoyed her moment of solitude, she also found she was already starting to miss the company she’d gotten used to. At the foot of her bed, a warm winter outfit had been laid out that fit perfectly when she tried it on, and she again found herself wondering who had been the one to arrange all this for her. She paused a moment before she stepped outside, adjusting her posture and expression, settling on the soft smile she’d worn to meet refugees when they were out on the road.

Varric had also changed and had seated himself in the same spot that he’d claimed before they left. “Squeaky clean again, Sterling?”

“Nobles do not squeak, Master Tethras,” she said seriously. The twinkle in his eyes that preceded his laughter did not fail to show itself and she softly chuckled along with him.

“Want to join me?” he asked, motioning to the log next to him. “I’ve noticed my ego shrinking without you as my audience for the last few hours.”

“You are a wonder of nature and have the most illustrious chest in all the land,” she said, placing her hand over her heart and bowing her head a fraction. “Will that keep you going while I say hello to some people?”

“Oh, for a bit,” he winked. “See you later.”

She smiled to herself as she walked the path to the Chantry, pausing on her way to talk with Threnn and some sisters that were gossiping near the entrance. Leliana was talking to one of her scouts and while she acknowledged Elsa’s approach with a nod, her expression made it clear that she was not in the mood to chat. Elsa turned towards the Chantry instead and went inside, blinking to let her eyes get used to the darkness. The door to the war room was open and through it she could see the high-shouldered silhouette of the commander, his back turned towards her as he looked at the map in front of him. She made to join him, but before she had made it halfway down the hall a voice came from her left.

“Elsa, you have returned!”

The commander turned around at the sound and before she pulled her gaze away, Elsa noticed the distrust he’d regarded her with before seemed to have left his eyes. Josephine came towards her, her ruffles bouncing with her movement and a wide smile on her face. “We have, Josephine,” Elsa said, smiling as well. It was hard not to be influenced by the cheerful manner of the ambassador. “I trust you have been well?”

“As well as anyone can be in a place as... rustic as this. But you!” Her eyes grew wide. “We have read your reports, it must have been horrible out there! I see you found the clothes I arranged for you, are they to your liking?”

_So it had been her._ Though it didn’t make the gesture any less meaningful and it had definitely been the more plausible option, she still felt the slightest sense of disappointment that it hadn’t been the commander who’d arranged the preparations in her cabin. _Don’t be silly, girl,_ she thought, echoing her mother and mentally slapping herself for doing just that right after. “Thank you, Josephine, they are perfect. You are most kind.”

“Oh, it is no trouble,” she replied, her teeth glittering in the candlelight. “I imagine you are tired from your trip, but would you have a moment to go over some things with me? I have been writing to people and drawing up lists of possible alliances, but I could use your input.”

“I’d be happy to help,” she nodded, before glancing towards the back of the hall. He had returned his attention to the war table, though his body was still slightly angled towards the door. _An invitation?_ “Could we do it in a little while though, Josephine? I have a few things to do still.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be in my office, you can come find me when it’s convenient.” She turned away and Elsa resumed her walk towards the back room, but only managed a few paces before the bright voice called after her again. “I forgot this,” Josephine said, pulling a letter from her clipboard and handing it to her. “Your mother wrote to you.”

Elsa’s fingers froze on the envelope for the briefest of moments before she took it. “My mother?”

“Yes, I wrote to your family to explain our situation, like we’ve discussed. They replied and are very supportive of your being here. This was included for you.”

She stared at the broken seal and raised her eyebrows. “It has been opened.”

“Yes…” Josephine replied, her expression twisted with guilt. “I do apologize. Leliana insists on screening all mail that goes in and out of Haven.”

“I understand, Josephine. Don’t worry about it.”

She turned over the letter in her hand, recognizing her mother's sharp script on the other side. _Elsa Devera Trevelyan._ As much as Leliana had scrutinized the letter, she wouldn’t have uncovered anything in it that was of importance. Elsa didn’t even need to fold it open to know what its contents were. Concerns for her well-being, prayers that were with her, how much she was in their thoughts, and how proud they were. It didn't mean anything. The real message was as clear as daylight on the front of the folded paper, only to be seen by those who knew it was there.

“Your middle name is Devera?” Josephine asked conversationally. “It is Antivan, do you have connections there?”

“Yes, my mother is from there,” Elsa answered, smiling as if the letter was the happy gift the ambassador thought it was. “Let us attend to that business you mentioned now. I will read this later in my quarters.”

She followed Josephine to her office, her fingers clenching down on the parchment, not noticing the eyes of the commander following her until she had left his field of view. Devera... 'Task' was its literal meaning. Must, ought... Owe. Lest she forget.

 

* * *

 

They remained in Haven for some time, during which she spent a large part of her days bent over family trees and records with Josephine, recalling scandals and gossip, figuring out who owed whom, and how all this information might be of use to the Inquisition. The leftover hours were filled with living up to the expectations that came with her role as 'the Herald'. She talked with the people, welcomed and helped settle in the refugees that kept trickling in, read to the children, and led prayer sessions in the mornings and evenings.

On occasion, a meeting was called in the war room which she was asked to attend. It was in one of those that Josephine presented a report from one of her contacts in the Free Marches, detailing some scandalous behavior from some of Elsa’s more distant relatives. She feigned shock at hearing the words, though they had hardly come as a surprise. Not everyone in their clan was as good at keeping up appearances as her family was. The commander suggested squashing those who falsely claimed close acquaintance with her and the Inquisition with force, as was his method of dealing with most of the problems that arose. In this case she had to consider the option for quite some time, but ended up opting for diplomacy nonetheless. She made sure to cast him a grateful smile from across the table however, which he received by clearing his throat and shifting his eyes away before he returned it.

She kept her distance from Varric and her other travel companions for a while after receiving the letter. It was better if she didn’t grow too attached. There was the real possibility there was no further need of her once they managed to close the Breach. She clung to the hope that she could trace Myca while she was here, knowing she was expected to return home the moment her presence was no longer required. Additionally, she’d gotten used to toning down her regular composure around the others during their trip. Every time she was around Varric it became harder to keep it up, and it made switching it back on all the more challenging. The dwarf did not let her withdrawal go on for long however.

“Sterling.” She looked up from the crates with goods that had arrived from a noble house in Ferelden. While they had no men to spare, they had been most generous in the resources they had donated upon their request for aid. She was sorting the blankets by thickness when Varric pushed himself up onto the box next to the one she was working on, his legs dangling above the ground. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, continuing to work and avoiding his eyes. The observant dwarf was getting far too apt in seeing through her masks.

“I’m not going to ask you about anything you don’t want to talk about,” he said casually, keeping his voice low to not be overheard. “But let me give you some advice. We all have roles to play, but don’t forget who you really are within them.”

“How do you know who I really am?” she asked, her voice sharper than she’d intended.

He blinked, looking unimpressed. “I saw the smile on your face after you climbed that hill and heard the spirit in your voice when we first met. I’m sure that’s not all there is to you, but you can’t deny that you were happy in those moments.” She stared at him, briefly lost for words. Her stunned expression amused him, for he chuckled before he hopped off the box and motioned with his head towards what had become his regular spot. “Do you have time for a break? I have a story idea I want to run by you.”

She exhaled a short laugh through her nose and followed him up the steps, where they sat down at the fire. He spun her a tale that made no sense at all and that he was probably making up as he went, but it made her laugh and lightened the heavy feeling that had clung to her shoulders since she received her mother’s note.

Raised voices snapped them both out of the world he’d created and they looked over to the Chantry. A mage and a templar seemed close to an altercation when the commander stepped between them.

“Knight-Captain!”

“That is no longer my title.”

His voice sounded agitated, insulted almost, by the mention of his former title. Though he quickly silenced the argument, the scowl that spread across his face when the Chancellor approached spelled more trouble.

“Time for me to go play another role,” she said so that only Varric could hear her from the people that had been drawn to the noise. He gave her an asymmetrical smirk in response and she shot him a short smile before getting up and straightening out her face.

 

That evening, the turnout to the Chantry was the largest it had been so far, probably due to her leaving for the capital the next morning. It was Mother Giselle who led them in their prayer this time, though many of the eyes were upon Elsa as she stood next to her. The number of attendees had been considerably less the few times she hadn’t been able to join because she was occupied with some other matter.

Tonight she would spend a lot more time with them after they’d finished, talking to them, holding hands for a moment, or sharing the occasional hug. It was another part that she played and one that came to her with relative ease. Everyone was scared and her presence could, at least for a moment, make them feel better. As doubtful as she was that Andraste had indeed blessed her, she could at least use the assumption to help those in need of reassurance.

She was watching the last person leave the hall when something caught her eye in the shadows. A faint shimmer of candles reflecting in metal. It flickered as the wearer of the armor pushed away from the wall and came towards her.

“Commander,” she greeted, inclining her head to him. “Were you there the whole time?”

“I came in around the last verse,” he replied, halting next to her and looking up at the stone image of Andraste. “I was working until then.”

The flames reflected brightly in the amber irises and picked up flecks of gold in his hair. He really did fit the picture one associated with the words ‘knight’ and ‘templar’ perfectly. “Do you still worship?” she asked. From what she knew, most Circles began and ended the day with a communal prayer and it was in the mornings that the templars received their dose of lyrium from the Chantry. With his rank, he had probably administered it himself, but he likely wouldn’t have skipped on the ceremony. Yet she had not seen him once at those they had held since she’d returned.

He turned his head to face her. “Not as frequently as I used to,” he admitted. His brow pulled down slightly as he spoke the words, casting a shadow of guilt over his eyes.

“It is not something that should be forced,” she replied, turning her attention to the statue.

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he too turned back to the idol. “I have concerns about your trip to Val Royeux,” he said after some time.

“About what in particular?”

“It is dangerous. You said yourself you didn’t change the Chancellor’s mind. He is a good indication of what to expect from the other clerics. They want to see you brought to trial.”

“Cassandra and the others will be with me. I think they outweigh a couple of clerics. Likely they don’t dare come anywhere near me if I stay close enough to Varric’s chest.”

A small laugh escaped him. “You sound like Hawke.”

“Is that a good thing?”

It took him a while to answer. “Yes... It is.”

“In that case, I thank you.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes and he returned her smile. “Anything else on your mind?”

His cuirass rose with his breath and he moved away to sit on one of the benches, resting his elbows on top of his thighs. His eyes narrowed slightly as he observed her. “Explain to me why you think this is necessary.” He looked away for a moment before adding, “… Please.”

“Appealing to the clerics?” He gave a short nod in response. “Before I answer that question, will you answer one of mine?”

A deep frown lined his forehead and his eyes darted between hers. She smiled to herself. Though he might not believe her guilty anymore, he was no less cautious. It was quite adorable to watch him try to figure her out. “All right,” he said eventually.

“Why do you ask?”

Clearly he had expected a much more diabolical line of inquiry, for his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Because you seem to have a certain grasp on these affairs that I lack. I’d like to hear your viewpoint.”

“Josephine and Leliana have a similar understanding of such matters, if not better,” she smiled. “Doesn’t it make more sense to ask them, since they are actually your peers?”

“You only get the one question,” he said, holding up a warning finger. The pride in his face as he felt he’d outwitted her made her let out a short snort of laughter. He shot her a look of surprise at the sudden outburst, before joining in with a low chuckle.

“You got me,” she smirked, walking over to sit down on the other side of the bench. “To answer your question, I believe it would be good for the Inquisition to at least attempt to lessen the Chantry’s animosity towards us. Mother Giselle says the clerics are divided in their opinions about us. If we can sway some of them, it would strengthen the Inquisition’s position.”

“Won’t it just lend credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says?”

“Shouldn't we?”

Faint lines appeared around his eyes as he thought on his reply. “All they do is argue over a new Divine and point the finger at those who actually try to help, while they ignore the Breach and the people who need them. In my opinion they have given up the right to wield any authority.” She very much doubted the anger in his face was only based on the current situation.

“I would agree with you, but in the end it does not really matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?” His voice cut sharply through the silence in the Chantry.

“No, it doesn’t. For the moment it is the only option we have. We need allies to close the Breach and there are none to be had as long as the Chantry uses what influence it does still have to undermine us.” He continued to look at her with his brow in a furrow. “Don’t worry, Commander,” she smiled, relaxing her voice. “We go and play along, that is all. Worst case scenario, we get a bit of a sun on our faces and they still hate us when we leave.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up at her accent. “Why do you do that?”

“I think you already know the answer to that, Commander,” she smirked. “Don’t waste a question.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “Do you get one for free now?”

“Of course,” she replied smugly. “The Game is ruthless. I will keep it for another time however, since we’re leaving early tomorrow.” He got up when she did. “Will you go back to camp?”

“No,” he said, looking back up at the face of Andraste. “I think I will stay a while.”

“Very well.” She took her leave with a courteous nod of her head. “I bid you a good night then, Commander.”

“And you, my lady.”

Her footsteps echoed faintly in the empty hall. It wasn’t until she stepped out of the Chantry that she felt him draw his eyes away from her back and heard the faint rustle of his armor as he turned around. _I look forward to playing with you again, Cullen._

 

* * *

 

Elsa looked with wonder at the city appearing in front of them. Massive statues rose up from the bay, while golden lions sat atop pastel colored pillars on either side of the gate. They dismounted and left their horses at the trading post just outside the city’s border. Although the guards cast them suspicious glares when they walked under the arch leading onto the bridge, they did not attempt to stop them.

“It seems they are expecting us,” Varric said, glancing back over his shoulder.

“You think?” Cassandra grunted in response.

Before he could throw her a retort, one of Leliana's scouts came running up to them. “Lady Herald,” she gasped. “The Chantry mothers await you in the market, as do a great many templars.”

_Templars?_ Elsa’s ears pricked up at the word. They hadn’t heard a thing about their whereabouts, despite Leliana’s efforts. _Could it be...?_

They continued on and it took her a conscious effort to not run the distance to the square. Apparently the Orlesian people were under the impression she was going to eat them or something to that effect. If the templars had indeed rejoined the Chantry, the commander’s concerns might very well have been more justified than she had thought. But the slight hope that she might find out something about Myca pushed away those worries, careless as it was.

She did not hear much of the words the Chantry mother was saying as her eyes drifted over the faces of the knights lined up around the podium. Most were wearing helmets, making it hard to identify them, but none of the eyes she could discern matched his.

More of them approached and she scanned the new arrivals, but hope quickly got replaced with a sinking feeling in her stomach. _Surely he would react if he saw me?_ She got snapped out of her concentration when a dull thud sounded from the stage in front of her and the cleric that had declared her a fraud moments ago collapsed to the ground. _What in the Void?_

Cassandra’s expression of disbelief mirrored her own as she listened to the Seeker’s conversation with her former commander. The man’s arrogance was astounding, though the warrior’s perplexed look while she watched him lead the templars out of the city made Elsa think it was not the kind of behavior she was accustomed to from him.

“Charming fellow,” Varric murmured.

“This isn’t like him at all,” Cassandra exclaimed, shaking her head. “It’s very bizarre.”

“Can he be reasoned with, do you think?” Elsa asked.

“I hope so,” the Seeker replied, still staring incredulously towards the gate. “If not, others in the Order might be more willing to listen. They can’t all feel as he does.”

_I sure hope that too._

They made their way out of the city, getting nearly skewered by an arrow and invited to a soiree within a single breath on the way, until a voice came from behind. Fiona was calm and well-spoken and regarded her with curiosity rather than conceit when she invited the Inquisition to Redcliffe.

_Crap... This isn’t going well at all._


	5. What's in a Name

Cullen groaned as he let his head roll back over the backrest of his chair. The work setup he had in his tent was far from comfortable, though he wasn’t one to complain. But after spending another evening sitting in the rigid, wooden chair, bent over the reports on a table that was just a little bit too short for his length, his body protested for him anyway. Though he had not managed to work through the heap of reports yet, he allowed himself a short break and breathed deeply as he stretched his neck from side to side. He’d have to finish. _Do I?_ Yes, he really did.

Somewhere at the bottom of the pile were the lists of new volunteers. They’d kept coming in from wherever Cassandra and the Herald had passed by, and the longer he waited in reviewing the details on them, the longer it would take to appropriate everyone accordingly. He could sort through the remainder of the pile and deal with the list and the other most urgent issues, leaving the rest for the following night, were it not that new ones would pile up during the day and he’d be kicking himself by this time tomorrow. With a sigh he pulled his head back to an upright position and grabbed the next file on the still rather sizable pile.

A misplaced report for the Nightingale, a letter from a noble complaining about refugees on his land, and a report on resources in the mountains later, he found something that caused him to smile for the first time that day.

> _From: Knight-Captain Rylen_
> 
> _To: Commander Cullen Rutherford_
> 
>  
> 
> _Commander,_
> 
> _You may remember me from when we met after the unfortunate events in Kirkwall in 9.37. After we completed our mission in the city, I returned to Starkhaven, where I continued to serve as Knight-Captain until the dissolution of the Circles. Here we did not experience the same resistance from the mages as you have had to deal with and while some of them left to join the rebels, many stayed behind and are still under the protection of the templars that chose to remain. Our Knight-Commander left at the beginning of this year to attend the Conclave in Haven, where I can only assume he perished in the blast with all others who attended. I have taken command since his departure and can fortunately say that the disaster at the temple did not inflame relations between my men and their charges._
> 
> _My reason for writing you is this. While we cannot see the Breach from Starkhaven, many here swear the sky is tinted green at night. Although there is no truth in this, it gives a good idea of how far wide the fear of the current situation has spread. I am afraid I no longer see my work in the Circle here as the best use of my abilities. There are some good men left under my command and I have someone in mind to install in my position in whom I have complete faith. You have impressed me with your leadership and ability when you handled the tragedy in Kirkwall and I will gladly pledge my sword to you and the Inquisition, if you have use of me._
> 
> _Awaiting your reply and may Andraste watch over you,_
> 
> _Knight-Captain Rylen_
> 
> _Signed on the twenty-ninth day of Drakonis, 9.41 Dragon_

His reply did not need much consideration. Rylen had proven himself most capable when he was sent to offer relief in the aftermath of the explosion, and having any man of his ability at his side would make Cullen’s life much easier. He’d only have to find a way to handle giving him a suitable position without stepping on any toes. Fletcher was capable, but Rylen had experience the other man lacked. Though the man did not seem like the type who would begrudge his decision should he place Rylen above him, he’d still have to find a way to handle the situation tactfully. Though he expected his men to be professional, the Inquisition’s army was too small to afford any grievances like that. He snorted a small laugh at himself, and wondered if the silver Herald would be proud of him for thinking in such a way, but the thought quickly sent warmth flushing to his neck and he pushed it away.

He called a messenger the moment he finished his letter to Rylen and had it delivered to the Nightingale, stressing to the young elf how it should be sent off at the earliest possibility. She nodded, staring at him with wide eyes, and bolted from the tent. He pulled up an eyebrow and stared for a moment at the tent cover, thinking that the Herald would probably be less pleased with him for scaring servants, though be it unintentionally.

After working through another few reports and writing replies where needed, the rustling of the tent cover made him look up.

“Curly.” Varric leaned his shoulder against the support post in the center of the tent, and crossed his legs at the ankle. In his hands, he held a deck of cards, though ‘holding’ was perhaps not an accurate description. It continuously moved between his fingers with a rustle, so fast that it was hard to distinguish the individual cards within it. “Up for a break?” he asked, pulling up an eyebrow and giving him a roguish smirk.

“Varric.” He leaned back in his chair. “When did you get back?”

“Just now,” he said casually, pulling the Angel of Truth from the deck and making it disappear in the air just as quickly. “How long have you been stuck with your head in those papers today?”

Cullen thought he’d suppressed the sigh that rose from his chest, but the glint pulling across the dwarf’s eyes showed that he hadn’t managed to hide it well enough. “A while,” he admitted.

“Come on then,” the dwarf said, motioning with his head towards the exit. “You were almost getting good on the boat ride over here, and I’ve been getting rusty since then.”

The cards flitted through the air and somehow organized themselves into a neat stack in his palm again. “You sure look it,” Cullen said dryly. “Anyway, I still have a lot of work to do.”

“Thought you might say that,” he replied, in a way that made it very clear just how lame of an excuse he found it. “Tell you what. You come out of your cave for a moment, I get someone to drink with and unburden of a few silver, and I’ll inform you of what happened in the capital while we do that.”

He looked at him a while longer, tapping the tip of his quill onto the table, until he tossed it away and got up from his chair. The way his joints cracked when he did, told him it wasn’t the worst idea to take a break, and perhaps the slight buzz of a beer would make the remainder of the reports easier to get through later on.

 

This assumption proved to be very naive, of course. Varric was not content to release him after a single drink, and he found that it didn’t take a whole lot of convincing for him to remain for another. And another one after that. The pile of documents on his table did not inspire a quick return, and the few times he got close to winning a round made him all the more determined to play another.

He and Varric were joined by Avery, the scout he’d briefly met at the temple, Fletcher, and the crass elf that had tagged along from Orlais. Cullen wondered if the evening would be the right time to bring up the matter of Rylen joining them, but decided to hold off for the moment. He highly doubted the slight intoxication would make him any more eloquent in articulating the situation properly.

“Tit.”

He glanced at the blond elf, who was sitting cross-legged on the table rather than on a chair. She was staring at her cards, her brow in a furrow, and he wondered if she was going to follow up the word with anything else.

“She does that a lot,” Varric said, discarding a card and drawing another. “Bad hand, Buttercup?”

“Arse.”

“Quite. Sterling was pretty amused by it on the way back.”

“Sterling?” Cullen asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Varric only made a noise of confirmation, but looked back when he realized Cullen didn’t know who he was talking about. “Oh, I mean Elsa.”

For a moment he wondered if there was anyone left who did not call her by her first name, and if it was starting to get weird that he didn’t. “Why Sterling?”

“Seems pretty obvious.”

“Why not Silver, if you’re going for obvious?”

“I don’t ‘go’ for obvious, Curly,” he replied. “Make your move.”

“Ah, sorry.” Cullen discarded a dagger and picked up another card. “You’re pretty obvious with mine.”

“Not anymore, I have to explain it to people now. Didn’t think I’d ever be embarrassed by a man’s hair.”

“It is very nice hair,” Avery chuckled, casting him a sideways glance as she drew another card.

Cullen coughed and felt heat flush to his face as the other eyes around the table also focused on him, though he drew the line when Sera slowly reached over to touch the top of his head.

“Can you all focus?” he asked angrily, swatting her hand away.

Varric chuckled and ended the game on his turn, taking another win with a full suit of daggers. Fletcher had folded early on and downed the rest of his drink, before bidding them a good night and taking his leave. Avery followed soon after, saying something about not being able to afford more losses, while Sera swore some more and had her attention drawn to one of the serving girls. Cullen’s drink was still half full and he decided to finish it before heading out himself, wondering how much work he’d still be able to get done. Varric remained across from him, counting his earnings.

“So why not Silver?” he asked again, watching his coins of that very material disappear into the dwarf’s purse.

“I can see why you would call her that,” Varric smirked, taking far too much delight in not answering the question directly. “You did always put everything with tits on a pedestal.”

Cullen blinked, feeling rather taken aback by the sudden comment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The dwarf tossed his full coin purse in the air, weighing it in his hand, before tucking it away. He signaled to Flissa for a new drink and another one got placed in front of Cullen as well before he could object. “You did the same with Hawke, and I dare say you did it with your Knight-Commander,” he said, leaning back in his chair and nursing his tankard in his lap.

He choked on the sip of ale he’d taken. _“Meredith?”_ he asked, brushing his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hardly!”

“Oh, come on. Was it just templar devotion that made you stick with that woman for so long? You knew the annulment was uncalled for.”

Part of him wanted to grab the dwarf by his shirt and shake him, were it not that he’d likely end up with a fistful of chest hair instead. “There was nothing between —”

“I know that, Curly. Maker’s balls, can’t imagine she would let anyone close to her, though it might’ve done her a world of good. But would you have followed her orders as long as you did, had she been a guy?”

All he could do was stare at the dwarf in disbelief. Surely, the fact that Meredith was a woman had not had any influence on him? … Right? She was his commanding officer, he’d done his duty in following her. Indeed, she was such an unwomanly person, he’d hardly even thought of her as one. He just hadn’t noticed just how unstable she’d become until she turned on the Champion.

“Well, let’s leave her out of it for the moment, ‘cause you seem close to having a stroke,” Varric said, flashing a toothy grin. “You definitely did it with Hawke.”

“I hardly put Hawke on a pedestal,” he scoffed.

“Oh, you don’t think she is perfect, I’m sure,” Varric replied airily, “but that’s because that is not how she wants to be perceived. You have no idea just how imperfect she is, believe me. Anyway, returning to the lady at hand…” He took a slow sip from his drink and ran a finger along the edge of the mug, angling his head to the side as he looked him over. He had a good ten years on Cullen in age, and the dwarf managed to make it seem like those years were made of pure life experience and wisdom. “Pure silver is pretty, adaptable to many uses, and valuable,” he said eventually.

“That seems fitting,” Cullen grunted, increasingly annoyed by his smug expression.

“It is also soft and brittle. You’ve read her reports. There’s more to her than that. It’s insulting really, to only focus on the shine.”

He frowned, letting the words sink in for a moment. “The shine is what she puts forward.”

“She does, and rather expertly, I’d say. But anyone who gets as happy as she did from climbing up a sodding hill, has issues. Don’t forget that people with titles are still just people.”

Varric seemed sufficiently satisfied with the confused expression he’d managed to draw from him for the evening and let him mull over his words in silence after that.

 

Cullen took his leave after he finished his drink. When he got up, he found out that the alcohol had hit him harder than he’d thought, and he slowly made his way back to his tent, trailing a hand along the buildings or fence where he could.

His mind vehemently objected to the dwarf’s allegations concerning Meredith and Hawke, but it was more receptive in processing the words about the Herald. She had another side to her, one that he’d mulled over ever since she’d relaxed her voice in front of him. And with how quickly she had managed to adapt to the sights of war, she was clearly stronger than one would think from someone with her upbringing.

He wondered how she was dealing with what Varric had told him about the templars they’d encountered in Val Royeux. At least some of them had seemed willing to belief she was the Herald of Andraste, but the Lord Seeker’s behavior was unpardonable. He wished he’d joined them on their trip. Perhaps his presence would have made a difference, or at least he would have been able to defend her to the man. Or was thinking she needed his protection not giving her enough credit? Insulting, Varric had called it. Maker, part of him really detested the dwarf.

Shortly before reaching his tent, he tripped over a practice sword that someone hadn’t put away properly. He muttered a soft curse under his breath and placed it back on the weapon rack, before pushing away the cover and going in.

“Good evening, Commander.”

He froze, one foot inside the tent and another one still in the snow, his hands lingering on the canvas. She had been sitting on his cot, but got up the moment he’d stepped inside. Her hair was loose and lay draped over one shoulder, shimmering in the light from a candle burning on his desk.

“My lady,” he said, closing the tent behind him after noticing how the foot he’d left outside had started to freeze rather quickly. Why was she here? At this hour? On one of the few occasions that he was intoxicated? The Maker did like to test him, did he not? He took a deep breath, trying to will away the haze, though the shock of her sudden appearance had done some of that already.

“My deepest apologies, Commander,” she said, bowing her head. “It is not my custom to intrude in this manner. I didn’t want to disturb your time off, but neither can I wait until tomorrow to discuss with you what I came here to talk about.”

“Of course,” he said. “Ehm… please, sit. I only have the one chair…” Maker, he was even less eloquent than during the day.

“I wouldn’t dare to take your chair, Commander,” she said, a hint of that same cheeky smile she’d given him a few times before playing around her mouth. “I am perfectly comfortable sitting on this cot, if you’ll permit me.” She waited until he’d nodded and sat herself back down on the edge of his bed, her back perfectly straight and her hands folded in her lap.

He moved across the tent, to his relief without swaying, and sat down behind his desk. “I hope you have not been waiting long,” he said, busying himself with rearranging some of the papers.

“Not at all. We didn’t get back until late and hair this long takes a while to clean. It’s like wearing white, really, you can see every speck of dirt on this color.” Her voice had gone to the eastern accent again. He noticed how it made him a little more comfortable with the situation, though it was also confusing. He still wasn’t sure if it was part of a ploy, or if this was her being genuine.

“How was your trip to the capital?” he asked her, pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher on his table. He tried to down it as fast as he could without being too obvious.

“You were with Varric before, yes? Did he tell you?”

“He did,” he replied, refilling his glass and emptying the pitcher in the process. He’d been far too obvious, but at least the haze was lifting quickly due to the icy water. “But your version is, I imagine, more factual and less embellished.”

“I think I can find a happy middle,” she said, smiling. “The long and the short of it is, you were absolutely right about the Chantry and the Lord Seeker made a rather horrid first impression.”

“Varric said a templar punched out a cleric.”

“There was no need to embellish that any further, I guess.”

He blinked. “You mean it’s true?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh.” He’d ignored that part of Varric’s story, brushing it off as one more of the dwarf’s lies. “What in the Void?”

“That was my response too,” she said, smiling wryly. “After all that, we were approached by the leader of the mage rebellion.” Her expression slowly darkened and she took a deep breath, before getting up to pace in front of his desk, wringing her hands together.

He followed her movements with his eyes. Her usually smooth forehead was wrinkled with her frown, with a sharp, vertical edge lining the space between her eyebrows. The grey eyes flitted back and forth, picking up flecks of the candle light within them that danced in her irises. After a while, she inhaled sharply and halted, turning towards him.

“There is something I have not been honest about, Commander, and I need to tell you. The mages are willing to talk to us and the Lord Seeker has made it very clear that he is not. Considering that it is unlikely we’ll manage to get them both on board to close the Breach, it seems the Inquisition faces a choice. And with their responses being as they are, I feel its leadership might be inclined to lean towards the mages. Would you agree?”

His mind took a little longer than he liked to catch up with her words, but eventually it seemed to have processed them. It took it more effort than usual, so much that he almost didn’t register the fact that he had been justified in thinking she was hiding something. He frowned and refocused his gaze on her, feeling his guard quickly reassert itself. “I would say that is a correct assumption. Though I would still like to see if we can get the templars to cooperate. Varric did mention some of the templars seemed more receptive to us.”

“Indeed,” she said, nodding quickly. “And I would prefer this too, for the reason I have mentioned in the war room. I do believe it poses an extra danger to us all to involve the mages. Furthermore, trying to close the Breach was… painful. I will try it again, of course, but I’d rather do so with a weakened Breach than with additional magic. But… there is another matter.” She sighed and sat back down on the cot, though no longer with her perfect posture. Her back was rounded, her shoulders low, and it took her a while before she met his eyes again. When she did, he was surprised by how sad hers were.

“In the letter you wrote me some weeks ago, you asked me of my brothers. I have three who are in the Order. Two of them are indeed still in the Free Marches, but my youngest, Myca, has not been seen for some months.” She looked away a moment and took another deep breath. “He is still a boy really, only barely out of training, but he left home some time after the Circles fell. No letter, no goodbye… one day he was simply gone. I had thought to find him at the Conclave, but didn’t. I can only hope it was because he wasn’t there. The only hope I have of finding him now, is that he is planning to join the others marching on Therinfal Redoubt or that he is already there.”

It was not the abominable secret he had imagined she might be holding, and her expression was opener than it had ever been so far, giving him little reason to doubt the story. “Why didn’t you say this sooner?” he asked.

“I didn’t know who I was dealing with,” she said, pulling up a shoulder slightly. “It is not my custom to share family matters with strangers who keep me prisoner. Also because it would make my opinion harder to take seriously, since I have personal gain in the decision. But I wanted you to know, because if I back your opinion and it comes out later… it would harm you and our standing in the discussion.”

For a short moment, Cullen thought back on the last decision he’d made that did not involve hidden motivations of the involved parties. He couldn’t remember what it was. “I see…” he said slowly. “I appreciate your honesty, my lady, but what would you have me do with it? While I do believe the templars are our better option, I do not feel comfortable keeping information from the others.”

The grey eyes were fixed on his, no longer dull, but filled with anguished intent. “I will inform the others of my situation, if you prefer. I just wanted you to know first, and know that it does not change my other reasons for wanting to seek out the templars. Also…” She paused a moment, searching his face and making him feel, once again, utterly exposed. “I had hoped you might feel more inclined to trust me… and help. Leliana is quite intent on finding the mages, Josephine is her friend, and Cassandra seems to agree with them that it is the best option in closing the Breach. You are outnumbered, Cullen.”

His name rolled off her tongue, a sharp edge at the beginning and a slight drag to the consonants in the middle. He couldn’t recall it ever sounding quite like that. “I do want you to tell them,” he said, after swallowing to clear his throat. “Leliana’s people might be able to help, and I don’t believe they will dismiss your opinion because you are concerned about your brother. You may rest assured that I will not be persuaded to pursue the mages so easily, unless it is clearly the better option for the Inquisition.”

She inclined her head. “I will inform them before the meeting tomorrow. Now, I fear you have been desiring my absence for far too long. Thank you… for understanding.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for coming to me.”

Some of the sadness got lifted from her eyes by her smile and she got up, spine straight and shoulders back, and practically glided out of his tent. She turned around at the entrance. “Good night, Cullen.”

His own name, sounding so strangely alien, sent a trickle of electricity down his spine. He could only nod in response, and she left. “Good night,” he murmured to the empty tent, “Elsa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So... apparently Rylen is with the Inquisition from the start? Please overlook that detail, while I call artistic license. :)_


	6. A Heart-to-Heart

The Herald kept her word. Cullen was usually one of the first in the war room before a meeting, but the next morning the other advisors and Elsa were already there.

“When did you last see him?” Cassandra asked her as he walked in the room.

“Her younger brother,” Josephine said quietly to him when he took his position next to her. “He’s missing.”

“I —” He paused when he caught Elsa’s eye from across the table. Her face was neutral, but there was a glint in the smoky eyes that didn’t leave much room for misinterpretation. “I, ehm… beg your pardon?” he said slowly.

“Her brother,” Josephine said again, pulling up her eyebrow a fraction. “He left home.”

“Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you, Commander,” Elsa said. “I’ve been feeling terrible about keeping this information from you, I just couldn’t wait any longer.” She turned her attention back to Cassandra. “It’s been several months, some time before the Circles fell. My brothers used to visit home quite frequently, but as the tension between templars and mages continued to rise they were increasingly unable to do so. There were rumors of splinter groups of both factions recruiting people to their cause, but I cannot vouch for the authenticity of these stories. It seems most likely, however, that he was persuaded to leave with one such group. I can’t imagine any other possibility.”

Cullen stared at her, fighting to keep his own face from betraying the confusion he felt. Why was she pretending he didn’t know already? His gut stirred uncomfortably at the situation.

“What of your other brothers?” Leliana asked. “Some of them are in Ostwick, are they not?”

“Hershel is Knight-Commander of the Circle, yes,” Elsa nodded. “Casper is stationed in Starkhaven. Myca was in the Ostwick Chantry, so he wasn’t under their direct supervision and neither of them knows what happened.”

“The Order prefers to not place family members in the same location,” Cullen added somewhat automatically, keeping his eyes fixed on the Herald. “It helps in shedding past connections. Had there been mages among the Trevelyans, they likely would have been placed in another country.”

“Right,” she said, casting a quick glance in his direction before returning her focus to the others. “Neither of them was approached by any rogue templars, but… Myca is young and with four older brothers, he is eager to prove himself. I can imagine he might have been persuaded to join those that felt called to a higher cause, like the ones in the capital.”

“I feel for you, Elsa,” Josephine said tentatively. “I do. But considering what happened in Val Royeux…”

“Indeed,” Leliana added. “My reports on the templars have been… very odd. I do not know what their goal is in marching on Therinfal Redoubt, but it will take us much longer to figure it out.”

Cullen continued to watch Elsa closely. Her posture was again as straight as one of her arrows, her voice contained. Her eyes were a mix of sadness and worry… but not quite like they’d been last night in his tent. She took a deep breath before speaking. “Of course, forgive me. We should accept Fiona’s invitation. It makes the most sense and my personal issues should not weigh in the decision. Nor is there any real reason to believe my brother would even be at Therinfal Redoubt.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. Josephine fidgeted with the edge of the paper on her clipboard, while Leliana and Cassandra exchanged a look. While all others were shortly pointed elsewhere, the grey eyes snapped to him, silently urging him to action.

“We should look into what’s going on with the templars,” Cullen heard himself say. “I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.”

“Or we can simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe instead,” Josephine said.

The suggestion momentarily drew his attention away from Elsa and fully into the discussion. “Do you think the mage rebellion is more united?” he asked sharply. “It could be ten times worse!”

“They might be worth the risk.”

“Or they could destroy us all.”

“We must come to a decision,” Cassandra weighed in. “And soon. The mages are powerful, but also desperate. If some of them are responsible for what happened at the Conclave —”

“The same could be said about the templars,” Josephine replied.

“Fair enough,” Cullen admitted, though be it begrudgingly. “Judging from their behavior at the capital, I’m not certain we can approach the Order safely at the moment.”

“I have a thought on that.” All eyes snapped to the grey ones again. “I hope you can look beyond my bias,” she said gently, “for I think we might be able to turn the templars’ public abandonment of the capital into an opportunity. Without them, the social structure will undoubtedly only unravel further than it already has in Orlais, much to the detriment of many noble houses. We have garnered many favors already and I dare say many more will pledge their support if we tell them our aim is to bring the templars back to their purpose.”

“There is truth to that,” Leliana mused. “And if we can gather enough of the nobility behind us, the Lord Seeker might be inclined to talk with us.”

“I think so,” Elsa replied. “Plus, it puts the Inquisition into a stronger position for when it has succeeded in closing the Breach. It won’t do to only think of how to close it the fastest, for after it is sealed there are still many other matters that need to be resolved.”

“It is worth a try,” Josephine said thoughtfully, tapping the back of her quill against her lip. “Quite a few people do come to mind that would benefit from seeing the knights return to the capital.”

“Then that is what we will do,” Cassandra said. “We’ll send word today. If the nobility do not respond favorably before the end of this week, we will head to Redcliffe.”

The women quickly left the room to make preparations, Leliana pausing on the way to have a quick exchange of words with the Herald. Cullen stood frozen behind the war table, waiting until they’d gone. When they had, she closed the door behind them and turned around.

“Well done, Commander,” she said, letting her voice go instantly.

“Why did you pretend you didn’t tell me about your brother yesterday?” His tone was harsher than he’d meant it to be, but she didn’t seem impressed.

“Because now it was only my standing that was affected, and the concerns of a worried older sister are not so very damning. Had they known I came to see you, you might be perceived as being manipulated by me.”

“That’s exactly what you did,” he said angrily, walking around the table to stand in front of her. “You orchestrated this whole discussion!”

“Did I make you say anything you wouldn’t have said otherwise?” she asked calmly.

He blinked. “Well… no. But —”

“Cullen, I did not want to blindside you with the information about my brother at the same time as the others, because it would have made you doubt my intentions, which are sincere. Nor could they know that you knew before them, because then neither of our opinions would have been perceived as objective. Now you were able to offer up the fact that we needed more influence to approach the Order, without it looking like I asked you to say that, and I could suggest my plan in a way that wasn’t too pushy.”

It took him a while to notice his mouth was slightly open, and he quickly shut it. “This isn’t right.”

“We got the outcome you wanted, didn’t we? Or a shot at it, at least. What’s the problem?”

“We’re working together here,” he said sharply, gesturing towards the table. “You don’t believe honesty important in that?”

“I have not been dishonest,” she said, shrugging slightly. “I didn’t lie, I merely made sure the information was presented in the way that best suited our purpose.”

“You did lie, in pretending you didn’t tell me last night.”

“I only said I felt bad for hiding it and couldn’t wait any longer in telling.”

“Don’t get smart with me!”

“Being smart is all I’ve got.” A sudden hardness pulled across the grey, making him pull back slightly. It was gone in an instant and she took a deep breath before continuing. “I thought of telling you what I was planning, but I wasn’t sure if you could or would be willing to play along. Had we both walked in here advocating to approach the templars after I informed you of my plight, this conversation might’ve turned out very differently. I did not want to take that risk. No harm is done. We try to get the templars and if we can’t get the nobility behind us, we go to the mages after all. Can you live with that?”

There was no fault with her logic that he could see, and her motivations were even understandable, but the whole thing left him with a sour taste in his mouth. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more; her behavior, or the fact that she had managed to unwittingly involve him in it. “No more, you hear me? These are good people. You can be straight with them, and I will not be drawn into these games.”

“I told you already, Cullen,” she said, her lips curling into a slight smirk. “You are part of the games, wether you want to or not. And you should be happy to have me on your team.”

“We are _not_ a team! Not if you pull this kind of thing!”

She merely blinked. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you,” she said eventually. “Not operating alone… it’s a new experience for me.”

The eyes darted between his own. They were as unreadable as ever, but noticing the tiny flecks of green and blue in them, he suddenly realized how close he’d gotten to them. He cleared his throat and straightened himself up, taking a step back to rest against the edge of the war table. “Let’s just hope your plan works.”

“I do not hope,” she said simply. “I’ll make it work.” She inclined her head to him and offered a bright smile that lit up the rest of her face. It was unlike any he’d seen so far from her and it was hard not to return it, though he managed. Part of him did not want to like this woman, but something about her did not seem to leave him much of a choice. She turned around and gracefully swept from the room, leaving him to stare at the oak door when it swung shut behind her.

 

* * *

 

 Elsa watched the flock of ravens until it had completely disappeared from view. Forty-three they had sent out, to every noble house in Orlais that was important enough to make an impact. She had contemplated also sending word to the smaller ones, of which there were a ridiculous amount, but with all the feuds between different families they had decided against it for most of them. Furthermore, the ‘true’ nobility did not like to be clumped together with newly acquired titles and money.

“Our messages will reach their destinations before the end of the day,” Leliana said, also looking out over the mountains where her charges had gone off.

“It is quite remarkable, how you’ve trained those birds,” Elsa mused.

“There are only a few intelligent enough that they can be trained to find a specific target, like the ones we used to communicate with you while you were out in the Hinterlands. But yes,” the spymaster said, smiling, “it is remarkable.”

There was a short moment of silence, in which Elsa pondered what her standing with the spymaster was at the moment. “If you don’t mind my asking,” she said, turning towards her, “why is it your preference to seek out the mages?”

“Solas is the most knowledgeable about the Breach. He believes it is our best chance of succeeding, and I believe him.”

“I do not doubt Solas, but the commander is just as convinced the templars can help. You trust an apostate you know nothing of over someone who has been with the Order for most of his life?”

“You seem quite fond of our commander,” she said with a sly smile.

“And you are deflecting.”

“And now you are.”

They shared a short laugh and Elsa drew up her scarf a bit higher against the wind. “I appreciate the commander. He’s an honest and devoted man…” She paused a moment as she recalled his expression after the morning meeting. “He’s a rare bird.”

“He is,” Leliana agreed. “Do not get me wrong, I support our current plan. Your reasoning is sound and the templars’ behavior should be looked into. But the commander has a past… and it does not make him objective in regards to the mages.”

“From what I heard of Kirkwall, he has plenty of reason to.”

“Not Kirkwall,” Leliana snapped. Elsa raised her eyebrows and waited for her to continue, but the spymaster sighed and averted her eyes. “You should ask him if you want to know more, though he doesn’t seem inclined to talk about it.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. It was not my intention to gossip.”

“That’s all right. How about I tell you of my own dark past instead?” she said, smiling brightly. The lightness of her expression made the intimidating spymaster suddenly seem like a young girl.

“Can I handle your dark past, I wonder?” Elsa smirked, quickly growing to like the redhead more and more.

“Perhaps not,” Leliana replied smugly. “But I will tell you that it is not right, the way mages have been treated for years and years. Had my love not been recruited into the Grey Wardens, she might have been stuck in a tower for all her life. If you ever meet her, you’ll see the very notion is repulsive.”

Elsa took a long breath and returned her attention back to the village. Messengers were running up and down, soldiers went through drills beyond the wall, and an increasing amount of merchants had flocked to their location to do business with the Inquisition and its increasing number of followers. It wasn’t merely a small army anymore. It was a community, and everyone had their function within it.

“Have you had a bad experience with mages?” Leliana asked quietly. Elsa glanced at her from the corner of her eyes. The spymaster was observing her, her piercing eyes showing a soft concern.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “But many people don’t get to choose how they live, Leliana. There is no one faction to blame for current events, but it is very hard to reconcile what I’ve seen in the valley with whatever suffering mages have incurred in the past.”

Whatever Leliana’s thoughts were, they did not reflect in her face whatsoever, as was to be expected of a bard of her caliber. She inclined her head shortly and both women turned their attention back to the front again.

“I am sorry for keeping information from you,” Elsa said after a while. “Thank you for not holding it against me.”

“Oh, of course not,” she said lightly. “It was my failure to not uncover it before. Clearly my Ostwick network needs strengthening.”

“There is not a whole lot to know usually, unless you’re particularly interested in farming.”

“Deep knowledge of that might be very useful, depending on the situation.”

“I haven’t found it yet,” Elsa chuckled. “But I’ll gladly educate you, if you think it worthwhile.”

 

It had been an interesting day, she thought to herself when she closed the door of her cabin behind her that evening. She’d spent quite a while longer chatting with Leliana, until they were both called to their own duties. More refugees had arrived, supplies needed to be logged and distributed, and she’d helped out in serving up dinner. The evening prayer session had run long again and by the time she had extinguished the last candle in the Chantry, the village was sound asleep.

She shed some of the many layers of clothing she wore around the cold mountain village and stood still for a moment… before taking a small sprint across the room and jumping onto the bed. It creaked under her weight and she stretched against the thick fur that lay over the blankets. The tension in her back and shoulders slowly dissipated and she enjoyed the soft hairs tickling against her face. They reminded her of the hunting hounds back home.

After some time, she turned on her back and looked up at the ceiling. There was no guarantee… but there was a chance. It was too early to celebrate. The nobles might not agree, nor was it certain that Myca even was at Therinfal Redoubt. But it was the closest she’d gotten to finding him so far.

After leaving the commander’s tent the night before, she’d hardly slept. Instead, she had sat on the edge of her bed, going through possible versions of the morning meeting in her head and figuring out the best course of action. It had gone as well as it could have, and the advisors had been more understanding than they had been in many of her imagined versions of them. Still, she didn’t regret the way she had decided to handle the conversation. At least she wouldn’t have, if not for the look on Cullen’s face after.

If Leliana’s composure had shown any cracks, it was when she mentioned his past. Elsa couldn’t deny that it intrigued her, though it was unlikely he’d ever tell her about it. There had been a disturbing hardness in the amber eyes when he’d come up to her in the war room and stopped mere inches away. Part of her felt slightly annoyed by how his response was dampening what had felt as a small, yet nonetheless very real, victory. But largely she felt a lingering guilt at tricking him, and more annoyance at why her own reasoning did not manage to get rid of it.

She sighed deeply, got up, and grabbed her coat. A sharp draft came in when she opened the door and she wrapped the thick felt closer around her. A faint mist of snow was falling softly, leaving a fresh powder on the paths and the frozen dirt. Elsa made to head towards the training grounds, not exactly sure yet as to what she would do there, when her attention was drawn to the other side of the village. The Chantry door was open, and a faint light was shining from within. She frowned, wondering if she had forgotten to put out a torch, when a shadow moved within.

The commander’s silhouette was visible in the dark, outlined by the few candles he had lit in the alcove that housed Andraste’s statue. He was kneeling, his head bowed low, his hands clasped together in front of him. She hesitated a moment, but then walked over and kneeled down next to him. He looked up shortly when she did, before turning his attention back to his prayers.

Her voice joined his. He had chosen the canticle of trials. It wasn’t one she recited often, though it was more fitting in her current situation than ever before. He was silent for a while after they’d finished, and she waited for him to break his pose before she did.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, moving her feet from under her to a more comfortable sitting position and fanning out her skirt around her.

“You didn’t,” he replied, his eyes shifting between hers. To her relief, they did not seem angry any longer. “How come you’re here? Was the evening service not fulfilling enough?”

“It was for me, not sure the Maker agrees,” she chuckled. “I was looking for you actually.”

“Oh? How come?”

She looked away for a moment. Apologies, sincere ones at least, were not something she was particularly practiced in. Her attention was drawn to the door at the end of the hall behind which the other leaders of the Inquisition were asleep. All seemed quiet, so she turned her attention back to him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For this morning.”

One of his eyebrows shot up and he looked at her for a moment, before sitting down on the stone floor, leaning his back against the wall. “About what in particular?”

As she pondered that question, it became clear why the apology was difficult for her. Honestly, she hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. “For making you feel I tricked you,” she said eventually.

He huffed a short laugh. “So you’re not apologizing for your actions, but how I felt about them?”

Crap… the commander was a quick study. “That’s not how I meant it.”

“You probably don’t say what you mean half of the time, but in this case I think you knew exactly what you were saying.” He regarded her for a moment. “I’ll admit, I might have overreacted a bit. But I’ll tell you why the meeting bugged me, if you want.”

“… Please.”

One half of his face was shrouded in the dark, making it hard to read his expression. “You said you’ve heard stories of Kirkwall.”

“I have. There were many different accounts and opinions of the situation there. I have heard several speak of you most positively in how you handled the aftermath of the explosion.”

“They shouldn’t have.” There was a sharpness in his tone that made it clear this wasn’t simple modesty, false or otherwise. The same annoyance was present as the time someone had used his old title and the shadows in his face seemed to grow darker before her. He sighed and closed his eyes a moment. “The way we treated mages…” he said slowly. “All I did after the explosion, was try to make up for what I was part of before then. I will spare you the details, and while I do not believe it justified the eventual outcome, I will tell you that I take no pride in any part of it.

I cannot blame Meredith for it all, since I was in control of my own actions. But she did take advantage of… certain circumstances, and when I did question her methods, she hid information from me. The feeling of following an order, while not knowing for sure if you are being shown the whole picture… When I left the templars, I told myself I would not let that happen again.”

_Shit…_

“I do not believe your intentions to be malignant,” he continued, “and I am pleased we are trying to reach the Order before turning to the rebel mages. Had you not done what you did, Cassandra might have already dragged you off to Redcliffe by now. But I believe in the people here. While we don’t always agree, we are doing this together.”

His eyes met hers again and she took a deep breath. “I am sorry,” she said quietly. “For manipulating the situation… and putting you in a position that made you uncomfortable. Perhaps I was being too distrustful of the others… we didn’t start on the best terms, and I am not used to working together with people. It won’t happen again.”

“… Thank you,” he replied, inclining his head to her. “I appreciate that.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching each other with a new found comfort settling in between them. She felt herself smile under that realization, and he returned the gesture.

“I would like to use my question now,” she said after a while, adjusting her position and resting her shoulder against the wall.

“I’m sorry?”

“You still owe me the answer to a question, from before we left.” She gave him a small smirk. “Unless you’re no longer up for any games at all.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “That one is okay. Go ahead.”

“All right…” She looked at him for a moment, considering the options. Nothing too serious or personal after the morning, but still something interesting. Her eyes drifted to the cloak, its hairs quite reminiscent of the fur on her bed. “Did you have a pet when you were young?”

He stared at her for a moment, before letting out a short bark of laughter, which tapered off into a deep chuckle. “Maker,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Nothing. I was just expecting you to use that question for something more… devious.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she smiled.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” he replied, the corner of his mouth still pulled up in a smirk.

“That’s good then.” She leaned her head against the stone, starting to feel the tiredness of the day slowly beginning to claim her. “So… pets?”

“Right…” he nodded. “We had a couple of dogs. Mangy things, really, but they helped in herding the sheep.”

“Your family are farmers?”

“They are. Just a small flock, but enough to make a decent living.” He reached behind him to scratch the back of his neck. “How about you? Pets, I mean.”

“The usual. Or… usual for my kind of family, I guess. Horses, and dogs for the hunt. Myca and me would sneak into the kennels to play with them. We weren’t supposed to,” she chuckled, “them being working animals and all, and we’d get filthy. The servants tried to cover for us, but my mom would usually find out anyway.”

“Was that a problem?”

“Not so much for him, though she didn’t think it was safe. She’s quite… protective. For my part, rolling around on the ground with a pack of hounds is simply not very ladylike.”

“It would be difficult to picture you like that.”

“Are you trying?” she smirked.

“… Maybe.”

They kept their voices low, in keeping with the silence of the night and their surroundings, but she didn’t fail to notice how much she enjoyed the warm sound of his laughter. It died down after a short while, though the smile lingered on his face until she spoke again.

“Was it a good life?” she asked. “Growing up the way you did?”

“It was.” There was a slight scraping sound when he repositioned himself against the wall. “But I didn’t consider farming very interesting,” he said, smiling somewhat apologetically.

“It can be… though I guess my perspective is quite different. Our fields largely produce wheat, though we have some tenants who keep goats, I believe.”

“You believe?”

“I try to stay informed,” she shrugged, “but it’s not something I am meant to concern myself with. Management of the estate is up to my father and eldest brother.”

He frowned at those words. “What are you meant to concern yourself with?”

“Oh, charity work, social events… those kinds of things.” The answer did not seem to satisfy him much, for his brow remained knotted and he continued to look at her intently. “Basically,” she heard herself say, “I wait around until the day I marry.”

The golden eyes searched her own, rapidly moving in between them. “I don’t know you very well, Elsa,” he said softly. “But you do not strike me as the type who simply ‘waits around’.”

His smile was warm, his expression gentle, and she felt herself mirror it without thinking. They sat there a while longer, enjoying the tranquility of the Chantry, until eventually he noticed her stifle a yawn and offered to walk her back to her cabin.

The wind had continued to grow stronger and she shivered, pulling her coat close around her, until a moment later a thick fur landed on her head. She pushed it back so it lay over her shoulders and looked over to the side, momentarily confused by the new silhouette of the commander without the cloak to outline his broad shoulders.

She pulled the fur closer around her. It could be considered a bit much with how close her cabin was, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Some of the suitors she’d had over the years could learn a lesson or two in chivalry from the man walking beside her. The hairs were even softer than the fur on her bed and she realized the warm, earthy smell that reached her nose was his; comforting and intoxicating at the same time. A rush of warmth spread across her face and she thanked the Maker for the overcast night to keep it from showing.

They halted outside her door and stood silent for a moment, until she pulled the cloak off her and handed it back to him. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“No problem,” he replied, throwing it back over his own shoulders, though he didn’t bother to fasten it. “You should get inside, it’s below freezing out here.”

“Right.” She opened the door and stepped inside. “When we gather the support we need to approach the templars,” she said hesitantly, turning around, “will you be able to go with us?”

His eyebrows went up a bit. “There is a lot to do here… but Fletcher would be able to manage. Would you prefer I did?”

“I would,” she nodded. “Templars are not… I mean, the templars we saw in Val Royeux were not particularly fond of me. Let’s be honest, backing from the nobility won’t make me a warrior. I would feel more secure if you were there.”

“In that case, I will most certainly join you.” He inclined his head and stepped back. “Good night, Elsa.”

“Good night, Cullen… and thank you.”

“And you,” he said, giving her a small smirk, “for giving us the chance.”

She watched him until he’d disappeared beyond the gate, and went inside. There had been no fire in her cabin and the air within was almost as cold as the one outside. Her hands trembled as she undressed and changed into her nightgown, and when she got into bed, she pulled the fur tightly around her, the smell of his cloak lingering in her mind.


	7. Under Her Armor

The first raven returned that very morning, quickly followed by another. Then, for the largest part of the day, there was silence. Cullen constantly caught himself glancing at the sky, searching the horizon for any black specks that could be carrying a reply to one of their letters. He was continually distracted in conversation and during a sparring match his attention got pulled away by the rustling of wings, which left him open for Fletcher to give him an impressive whack with his sword. The noise turned out to be a bird of prey snatching a nug from the ground, and Cullen stared at it resentfully as it flew off. It looked like a hawk, he thought, rubbing his upper arm where a bruise was undoubtedly forming. _Figures._

Throughout the day it became clear he wasn’t the only one preoccupied with their ravens. Whenever he saw Elsa talking to someone — or rather, someone talking to her — instead of her usual polite demeanor, her eyes kept darting towards the mountains, and she only seemed to be hearing half of the conversation. Other times she was logging supplies or gathering herbs and she would freeze mid-motion as her gaze was drawn to the sky, while her hands and whatever she was holding hung suspended in limbo in front of her. On occasion she would catch his eye after one of these instances and smile at him, before quickly restoring her usual serene countenance.

After their talk he no longer resented her for the way she had handled the meeting. In fact, now that he’d seen this side of her he noticed a somewhat odd — though not unwelcome — change in how he witnessed the Herald. Reluctant as he was to admit it, it was quite clear now that Varric hadn’t been wrong in what he told him in the bar. A pedestal was not accurate, perhaps, but he had allowed himself to be influenced by the persona she put forward. It seemed unlikely a man would have had the same effect on him, however good looking or charming. Perhaps he had done the same with… He quickly shook his head to clear the thought. The dwarf might’ve been right about Elsa, but there was no reason to go overboard. 

It wasn’t quite right to say the Free Marcher had lost her shine. She was still graceful, intelligent, definitely attractive… but it was easier for him to identify the cracks in her posture, the little glimpses of the person behind the silver facade. He wondered if they had always been easy to spot and he simply hadn’t been able to see them, or if she was less bothered in hiding them now. Over the next few days it became an amusing diversion to watch her as she went about her business. The grey eyes glazed over ever so slightly, while her smile froze in place, as she listened to the healer complain about his supplies. Then there was the tiniest of quirks from an eyebrow when someone made a suggestion she didn’t agree with, before she delicately changed their mind to be more in line with her own. And after one of the evening prayer sessions he caught her closing her eyes with an air of desperation, while an older lady grabbed her hands and wouldn’t let go. It was a tiny thing, the old woman, all bent over and crooked, with eyes that slightly bulged out of their sockets. Clearly she took great solace in their Herald, but Cullen was grateful he wasn’t the person on the receiving end of her gratitude. He watched Elsa’s chest rise, almost unnoticeably, in a deep, contained sigh, before she caught him smirking at the scene from across the room. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, while a devious smile tickled the corners of her mouth; a silent vow that she would get back at him at some point for enjoying her plight.

He tried to join the prayer sessions now, if he could. When he first began serving in Kirkwall they would start the day with communal prayer, but Meredith had phased it out over the years as her fear of allowing the mages to congregate had trumped her religious devotion. He’d gotten used to saying his prayers by himself and preferred it now, but at the next morning meeting Cassandra voiced the opinion that the Inquisition’s leadership should join the congregation when they could, to which Josephine agreed. Strengthening bonds was the official reason, though there was no doubt she wanted to limit any more rumors that might make them come across as the heretics they were widely believed to be. Cullen sighed in annoyance and had intended to ignore the request, until Elsa stopped him on his way to the war room the following afternoon.

“You didn’t seem too pleased this morning,” she said, while she busied herself with replacing the burned out candles with fresh ones. “You don’t think it’s reassuring for the people to see their commander with them during mass?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I get that, but that doesn’t change that it is comforting for them.” She glanced around to determine the Chantry was indeed empty besides them, and the bag with candles got unceremoniously flung into a corner. “I told you it’s nothing that should be forced and I stand by that, but you don’t have to do anything, really.” She now began pushing one of the benches to position it for the evening session. The wood scraped across the stone floor, making the hair in the back of his neck stand on end. “You can just sit back and take a nap if you want.”

“You’ll destroy the Chantry doing that,” he said, when the bottom of the bench got caught on a tile and she threw her weight against it. He put down the scrolls he’d been carrying and picked up the other end of the seat. She threw him a skeptical smirk, but lifted her end as well and they carried it into place.

“Thanks,” she said as they put it down, wiping the back of her sleeve over her forehead. “I usually manage though, and the Chantry is still standing.”

“No reason to test your luck,” he replied, walking over to the next one. “So you think it’s more beneficial for the Inquisition if I sleep for an hour in the Chantry than spend that time doing my job?”

“People like you, Cullen, but they can’t relate to what you do,” she said with a mild grunt, as she picked up her side of the heavy, wooden seat. “I mean, _I_ am part of the meetings, and I don’t even fully grasp all the things you busy yourself with outside of those. Seeing you out of the training grounds for a bit makes people feel you are a part of them.”

“I need to keep a certain distance. It’s important to keep the command structure working.”

“No one expects you to exchange teary-eyed hugs with your soldiers. Just sit in a pew for a while, catch up on rest if you want.” They put down the bench with a dull thud. She straightened her back and ran a hand through her hair, breathing in deeply. “That’s not so terrible, is it?”

It wasn’t, and after that he did find himself making more of an effort in attending. He didn’t always join in the words, but enjoyed the calm in listening to Mother Giselle speaking them. Afterwards he would help Elsa clean up, in spite of her objections, and the night would end with him walking her back to her cabin. Some nights they continued the question game, while on others they remained silent, but he felt himself growing a little more comfortable around her every time.

The days passed quickly and before he knew it, the moment of truth had arrived. Elsa was already in the war room, despite him being early, and for once her usually calm demeanor was largely non-existent. She was pale as a sheet and greeted him with an unsure smile that dissipated quickly. Her tension was palpable in the air, so thick he could feel it crawling under his own skin. She was never still, picking up tokens from the war table and placing them down again (after which Cullen put them back in their proper position), taking a few steps towards the door and quickly retracing them, and sitting down on the edge of the table for a moment, before jumping back up like she’d sat down on the end of a morning star.

“What was the latest score?” he asked her.

“Twelve rejects, five in support,” she said quickly, as if she’d recounted those numbers a million times in her head. “A bunch of non-committal shite from many of the others. Likely they’re all waiting to see what the rest will do.”

She’d gotten her hands on one of his reports now and started wringing the paper in her hands. A sharp pang sprang to life in his chest at the sight of it, but he wrestled it back down. “You spend too much time with Sera,” he said, in an attempt to lighten her mood and distract himself from the abused parchment.

The comment earned him a laugh that he hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. It was an odd sound; deep, like her voice, with a slight huskiness to it. What made it strange, however, wasn’t the tone, but rather the openness of it, so different from the constrained chuckle she’d only shown before. 

“She brings a whole new branch of linguistics with her, that one,” she said. “Quite refreshing.” She then looked down at her hands, staring at the report as if she’d only just realized it was there. “Maker,” she said, quickly putting it on the table and flattening it out with her hands. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay.” The apologetic smile she gave him was enough to make him mean it. “Are you all right?”

“Nervous,” she murmured, rolling up the scroll and placing it back on the pile. Her breath was quite shallow, as if she were only using the upper most part of her lungs.

“We can still find your brother, you know.” He picked up the pile of papers and moved them to the other side of the war table, for her fingers once again seemed to be searching for something to channel their unrest into. “No matter the outcome.”

She closed her eyes a moment and took a deep breath, before opening them again. “No,” she sighed. “I appreciate the gesture, but a deal is a deal. I’m aware of our resources. If we don’t get the support, we’ll need to focus what we’ve got on the mages and the Breach.” She held his gaze and slowly he began to see something in her face that went beyond the mere worry for a sibling. Her voice was small when she spoke again, instantly evaporating what little had remained of her usual poise. “Will the templars we have be able to make that any safer?”

He stared at her and swallowed. No, was the answer, but he didn’t want to tell her that. He didn’t understand the magic behind the Breach or her mark. He wasn’t even completely sure the templars could do what he had promised the others, though he didn’t let himself doubt that belief. Should they fail to get their support and enlist the mages, however, Solas had made it clear just how many of them were needed to power the mark. There was no doubt whatsoever that the handful of templars he had could do nothing for her while she was the center of that much magic.

She continued to look at him, waiting for his response, but his silence became the answer. She nodded and lowered her gaze to the table, to the point where a dagger was sticking out from their current location. Then, something interesting happened. He watched as she let her eyes fall closed again and breathed in deeply. Another long breath, while she rolled back her shoulders, followed by another, accompanied by a slow roll of her neck, going from chest to shoulder, all the way back, over her other shoulder and back to her chest. The breathing continued, growing longer with every exhale, until gradually the blood returned to her cheeks and her hands stopped trembling. When her eyes opened again, it happened slowly, as if she were waking from a long slumber. All fear had vanished, any trace that she’d been upset gone. She raised her head and looked him in the eye, while he continued to stare at her.

“What?”

“That’s… impressive,” he said, cocking his head to the side. Her posture was straight again, her hands neatly folded in front of her, her regal air restored. The young woman who had looked scared for her life had disappeared as quickly as she had surfaced, buried under years of training. Impressive was one word for it, he thought… disturbing another.

“At this point, my fate lies in the hands of the Inquisition,” she said, a wry smile curling around her lips. “No point in panicking over it. I trust you’ll try your best.”

He wasn’t sure how to reply to that, and felt quite relieved when the door opened and the others joined them. Leliana looked contemplative, but Josephine nearly ran towards Elsa, waving a letter in her hand.

“We’ve got Lord Abernache!” she practically squealed. “His raven arrived ten minutes ago!”

Elsa stared at her, blinked, then took the parchment being practically shoved in her face. “What did you have to promise him?” she asked as she let her eyes fly over the document. “I thought for sure he’d turn us down.”

“Oh, nothing too abhorrent,” the ambassador replied. There was a deviousness to her smile that Cullen found worrying. “I may have made our case seem a little bit stronger than it actually was. It was enough to pique his interest. And a friend of a friend might need to endure some unwelcome advances and grandstanding from his nephew at the next soiree.”

“Josie, you are a treasure,” Elsa said, smiling broadly. “So, does this mean…?” Her attention moved to Leliana as her voice trailed off. The spymaster waited a moment, then nodded.

“With Abernache’s support, we easily have the backing of ten notable houses,” she said. “I would have liked more, but it should be enough to get the Lord Seeker’s attention.”

“If we are all in agreement, we will ask them to meet us here,” Cassandra added. “Once everyone has arrived, we will move on to Therinfal Redoubt.”

Everyone nodded their consent and the atmosphere in the room shifted, going from tense anticipation to a certain kind of careful optimism. Cullen kept glancing towards Elsa during the remainder of the meeting, but she kept her composure throughout. They worked through their weekly updates and whatever new issues they’d been presented with, and within half an hour the women left the room again to send out another bunch of letters to their new allies. Elsa remained behind with him, her body erect and her eyes fixed on the door until it fell shut. The moment it did, she turned towards the table, resting her hands on the surface for support, and a deep, shaky breath broke free from somewhere deep inside of her.

“You okay?” Cullen asked.

“Yeah,” she breathed. Another long take through her nose and she straightened herself up, meeting his eyes with an expression that made his heart begin to pound.

Solona Amell had had a sweet smile; polite, considerate, yet always a little distant. Hawke had her defiant grin, always imbued with that know-it-all, mocking quality. Other girls had smiled at him over the years, often while fluttering their lashes and generally making him feel extremely uncomfortable. None of those could have prepared him for the smile Elsa was giving him now. 

All her masks had vanished, melted away like snowflakes in the sun by the sheer joy that was radiating from her. The colored flecks of her irises suddenly seemed to outweigh the grey, sparkling brightly in the dim light of the war room. Woven in with her cheer was relief and, when she continued to look at him, gratitude.

“Thank you,” she sighed. “Sincerely, I…” She laughed, in that strangely tantalizing, husky manner. “I know I acted all confident a week ago, but when the ravens kept coming back with nothing… It’s been stressful.”

“I didn’t do much,” he said, automatically reaching for the heat that had begun to flush the back of his neck. “It’s Josephine, Leliana and you that made it happen. And we’re not there yet. The templars might not agree, and we don’t know if your brother is there —”

He stopped talking when she laughed again. “You’re being a bit of a buzzkill, you know?” she said, grinning widely. “Take your credit where it’s due, Cullen. If you hadn’t advocated for the templars from the beginning we’d be swarmed with mages by now.”

She pushed herself up from the table and he watched her walk around the room. Her movements were restless again, but this time it seemed to be from an inability to express her excitement, rather than ill-contained nerves. There was a spring to each step and the corners of her mouth kept twitching up, while her eyes darted around the room.

“We’ll have to clean up the camp,” she said after a while, beginning to count an invisible checklist on her fingers. “Some of the supporters live only a few days away. It might be enough time for Threnn to arrange those new weapons for the troops. And I’ll need to have something else to wear…” Her attention was shortly drawn back to him. “Nah, you’re fine, just polish it up a bit. We’ll need different food, of course, and I’ll have to see about…”

Her voice trailed off, though her lips continued to move without producing any sound as she added points to her mental list while she kept moving about the room, aimlessly, yet with an air of extreme determination.

“Maybe we can put on a demonstration with the new horses?” he added.

“Right,” she said, punctuating the word with a jab of her finger, “Good one.”

“Varric could host a book signing.”

“Yes, his work has always been much discussed at social events. We should let them know he’s here, so they can bring their own copies.”

“Perhaps my men should dress up and sing a song, while Cassandra and Leliana sit on those Mabari statues next to the staircase to welcome our guests.”

“A hymn would probably be —” She suddenly halted and stared at him, before rolling her eyes. “Ha… ha…”

“Not very ladylike, you know,” he said, crossing his arms as he sat himself down on the edge of the table, “Telling a knight he doesn’t keep his armor clean enough.”

Her mouth twisted into an impish smile. “Not very knightly to miss a spot, serah,” she said smugly as she tapped a finger against his bracer.

He angled his arm to look at it. It wasn’t stained, but he hadn’t gotten around to fixing the claw mark the piece had received in the days after the Breach opened. It ran across the emblem, effectively cutting the flaming sword in half in a jagged slash.

“Ah,” he said. “Right, I could get that repaired.”

“Actually…” she murmured, angling her head as she observed the mark. “Maybe not. It’s sort of dramatic, with the sword and everything. I think that will have a lot more impact than if we try to sell you as some sort of peacock chevalier. Roguish, hardened veteran… that should do well.”

He stared at her. “Sell me?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “Surely you’ve picked up a few cues from silently enjoying my performance this week. There will be ladies among our entourage, so it’s time to use those other Maker given assets besides your sword arm and strategic mind.”

It took a while for him to realize his mouth was open. The first few words that made it past his tongue were nothing more than unintelligible stutters, until finally he managed to say, “I… I won’t be used for —”

She broke out in another burst of laughter, and continued to laugh until tears formed in the corners of her eyes. It made her whole body shake and she wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were afraid she might fall apart under the outburst.

“Maker, your expression,” she hiccuped. “You look positively terrified.”

“I am! Seriously, don’t do that!”

She inhaled deeply to catch her breath and her laughter slowly ebbed away, though it took a while for the sudden shakes in her chest to completely disappear. “I won’t,” she said. “But there will be ladies there and you will likely pique their interest, so be prepared for that.”

He sighed. “I will have my bracer repaired.”

“I just said that to yank your chain, really. They’ll be all over you either way, unless you put a bag over your head.”

“Maybe I’ll do that then,” he grunted. “So are you to be swarmed by all the men? You’re… attractive.”

A small smile tugged on the corner of her mouth. “Thank you… Men tend to swarm less though, and otherwise I can always play the holy card. Andraste’s Herald has no time for such things.”

He returned her smile and they stood in silence for a while, until eventually she looked away. She shifted her weight, and suddenly seemed very interested in a crack between the floor tiles, which she prodded at with her toes.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said then, looking back up. He couldn’t quite get over how she pronounced his name yet. It somehow made it sound a lot more exotic than he felt it had a right to be. “Even if you think you didn’t do anything… A chance to find Myca and close the Breach without… It means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, feeling heat rush to his face.

She continued to look at him, a silent intent lingering in her eyes, while he looked back at her. For a moment she seemed on the verge of stepping in closer, shifting her weight to her toes to a point of almost tipping over her balance, yet she retreated almost unnoticeably again. His own body stiffened as he waited for it to happen again, or anything that would make him believe he hadn’t imagined it, but she remained where she was, simply looking at him, until suddenly something changed. With one blink of her eyes, the intent had gone, and a serene smile spread across her face.

“I should get started on work,” she said calmly. “See you later?”

He nodded, and she spun round on her heel, gracefully gliding from the room. He sat there a while longer, thinking. Soon their camp would be filled with Orlesian nobles that would probably make him wonder how he ever could have found Elsa’s behavior troublesome, and over the next few days she and the others would be rummaging through his camp to make it and his men more presentable. 

Then there was the fact that Elsa Trevelyan, with her sudden shifting moods and trained restraint to a point it was scary, was undoubtedly one of the most confusing people he’d ever met… 

… and now he wanted to kiss her. 

It was going to be a trying couple of weeks.


	8. Motto of the Wise

“Beaudin?”

“Roger Fernandus Beaudin. First of three brothers, sole beneficiary when his father passed. Second brother a drunk, do not mention. Third is the third, so not important enough to mention. Has been pursuing the Lady Martel — did we put them in adjacent cabins?”

Josephine nodded, not taking her eyes off the documents in front of her. Varric glanced at both of them, and moved the flashcard to the back of the stack.

“I think you got that one,” he said. “Gilliard?”

“Lady Esmeralda Godiva Gilliard, Dowager Countess of Haye Manor,” Elsa rattled off. “Very rich, _very_ stingy, except when it comes to entertaining her gentlemen callers. At least thirty years younger than her, usually not lasting longer than a couple of months each. Show me the picture?”

Varric rummaged in the box of documents they’d gathered on their impending guests. He pulled out one of the thick, dusty tomes on blood lines and lineages in which most of their new allies could be found, often with portrait, and held up the page from which the nymphomaniacal elderly lady was making eyes at the reader. Elsa leaned in to see the picture better. The woman had a puffy face, a little like a toad, and even though the sketch was without color, she could easily imagine the gaudy shades of her thick rouge and eye make-up.

“Right,” she said. “For some reason I keep mixing her up with Lady Gobelins.”

“Don’t let her hear that,” Vivienne said sharply. “And try to stand still, dear.”

“Sorry,” she replied, quickly straightening back up. “Next one?”

She waited for Varric to continue, while Vivienne pointed out directions to the seamstress working on the hem of her dress, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked at the picture of the amphibian woman, a mischievous smirk creasing the corners of his eyes.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, pulling up an eyebrow.

“Oh… Nothing much,” he said loftily. “Is she bringing a plus one?”

Josephine grabbed the list of expected arrivals and rapidly let her eyes fly down the page.

“No,” she said, returning to the document she’d been working on, “She’s alone.”

“Really?” Varric murmured. “Interesting.”

“Why?” asked Elsa. “Are you looking for a patroness?”

“Maker’s ass, not me.” Vivienne pulled up her nose a bit at the curse, but glanced over at him in interest. “But I wouldn’t mind pointing her in the direction of a certain someone who’s at fault for me having to spend the next few days signing books for hoity-toity nobles.”

“Don’t you think the poor commander will be miserable enough as it is already?” the mage replied, though an amused smile curled around the corners of her mouth.

“He said it as a joke, you know,” Elsa sighed. “I’m the one who actually let them know you’re here.”

“Actually, it was me,” Josephine added. “Though it is a marvelous idea… most uncharacteristic of Cullen.”

“Well, yes,” Varric nodded. “But Curly is so much more fun to mess with than either of you.”

Elsa rolled her eyes. Likely the Dowager would spot Cullen well enough without the dwarf’s help anyway, but she still regretted telling Varric the suggestion had been his. She felt bad enough about what they’d been putting him through over the last week, and she didn’t like the idea of him having to fight off an elderly woman in heat on top of that. The dwarf continued to smirk at her, and she wondered which he was enjoying more; the prospect of messing with Cullen, or watching her response to it.

“Just continue, will you?”

“I think you know them, Sterling,” he said, flipping through the cards. “Why’re you so nervous anyway? These are your lot, aren’t they?”

“Hardly,” she huffed. “This is the top tier of the Orlesian court. In their eyes, my family are no more than glorified farmers.”

“It’s not quite so dramatic, darling,” Vivienne chimed. “You’re from an old family, at least. New money, now _that_ would be an offense! And I think you will make quite an impression, especially when I’m done with you.”

“I appreciate your expertise, Lady Vivienne,” Elsa said gently. She was getting rather edgy from the seamstresses plucking at her from all directions and the Iron Lady’s scrutinizing gaze, but kept her composure. Madam de Fer was a good test for what was to come; if she couldn’t handle her, she wasn’t going to be able to handle their guests.

Varric took her through another round of drills, before declaring he couldn’t take any more and needed a drink. He left Josephine’s office, tossing the cards onto a table, and Elsa saw him nearly bump into Cullen as the latter was on his way to the war room. The Commander’s face had been lined with a tense frown, but rapidly grew even darker at his run-in with the dwarf. He didn’t say anything and roughly brushed past him, making Varric stare after him in disbelief. The rogue then turned back towards her, mimed an unflattering, but undoubtedly accurate, impression of the Dowager Countess and pointed after Cullen, before wiggling his eyebrows and walking off with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

He’d been surprised at the lack of side effects the first few weeks after he quit. Seeing what happened to templars when they were taken off lyrium had not been a common occurrence, but he had seen it often enough. At times, someone would be deprived for a day or two as a disciplinary measure, though this often didn’t lead to much more than muscle weakness and trembles. On occasion one went longer without, which caused disturbing nights in which the man relived failed Harrowings, cold sweats and paranoia, lingering pains, and nausea. Then there were those who had left the Order completely, usually involuntarily, who would end up begging in the streets as they rapidly descended into madness.

Those, however, had been more dependent on the stuff than he’d ever been. While many of his colleagues had turned to taking increasing amounts in order to forget, he had always resisted the temptation and restricted himself to the minimum. There had been plenty of mornings where he’d stood frozen over his philter, on the verge of increasing the dose after another night in which he was back in Kinloch Hold, but he’d never given in. It was something he’d always felt quite proud of, even though it had taken him quite a while longer after Meredith’s demise to muster up the courage to quit altogether.

Perhaps it was because of this discipline that, when he did eventually decide to give it up, he didn’t notice much of a difference at first. Soon after the choice had been made, he’d been swept up in such chaos he doubted his body had even had the chance to notice the lack of the crystal. But even when the Breach had stabilized and he was more concerned with paperwork than containing demons, the symptoms he’d been expecting had been careful in showing themselves. A slight tremble of the hand, the occasional flash of heat that made him sweat and freeze at the same time, the lingering headaches after a disturbing night… Nothing he couldn’t handle, and nothing that much worse than when he still took it. Now… it was no longer so.

The dreams, while a constant companion for the last decade, were getting worse. Not so much in content, but in vividness. While never pleasant, he now saw that the lyrium had distanced him from the memories, as if he were observing someone else’s rather than reliving his own. These days he was right back in that cage, fighting invisible demons that tried to claw their way into his mind and sent their mirages to trick him. Even when they failed, they were never discouraged. They simply observed, gauging his response, trying to create an image that would tempt him into submission the next time. He’d been close… He didn’t know then just how close he’d been. Looking back on it now, he could see how he’d been lost had the Hero of Ferelden arrived anything more than a few hours after she did.

His nights were often too short to fall in much of a deep sleep, and it had happened so gradually he’d hardly noticed. But now he was back in that struggle, reliving the time where he’d asked himself, increasingly often, if he still could — if he still should — hold on. Back then, he had answered with ‘yes’ each time, though with mounting difficulty. He’d hoped he didn’t ever need to ask himself this question again, but here he was. So far he managed, but the time it took for the affirmative to form in his mind extended a little every day.

This made that rather than feeling rested after sleep, he often ended up waking more exhausted than ever. It aggravated the headaches, intensified the tremors, made everything that had been a minor annoyance before a serious obstacle to his concentration and work ability. It happened at the worst possible time too, when Elsa and the rest of the Inquisition’s leadership were working round the clock to prepare for the arrival of a bunch of nobility. He wished he’d realized this would be the consequence of pursuing the templars… it made the rebel mages almost look appealing.

He was on his way to the war room, his vision hazy from the sharp stab between his eyebrows digging into his skull, and didn’t even see Varric coming from his left. The dwarf made some joke or comment he couldn’t hear through the ringing in his ears, and he quickly made his way to the war room. It was quiet in the war room, and people tended not to bother him there for fear of interrupting. He closed the door behind him the moment he stepped inside and leaned against it, breathing deeply. The headache subsided a little and he moved to the table, deposited the reports he’d been carrying, and began to work.

Fortunately, Leliana had managed to acquire building plans of Therinfal Redoubt. He began with those, memorizing the layouts and marking possible exit strategies. Though he didn’t know why approaching the Order would lead to conflict, he wanted to be prepared nonetheless. Their behavior lately had been so uncharacteristic of how he knew them to be — which had already been vastly different from how he’d _imagined_ them to be as a boy — that he wasn’t about to take any chances. He wondered if Elsa was expecting something similar, and that was why she had asked him to come along. She had seen someone sworn to protect knock down a Chantry mother right in front of her after all. It wasn’t a leap to think they might not care for the Herald of Andraste in a similar manner.

The thought of Elsa distracted him momentarily, and he quickly shook his head to refocus on his work. Unfortunately the habitual gesture only made his headache flare up once again, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger, groaning in frustration.

“Cullen?”

He hadn’t realized she’d come in, and quickly straightened himself up.

“Is there something you need?”

He hadn’t seen much of her since they received the go-ahead on their plan, and when he did she usually did want something. Now, however, she frowned and closed the door behind her, evidently taking care not to make too much noise. She was wearing a half-finished garment held together by pins and needles, and though he couldn’t really imagine what the collection of cloth was supposed to look like in the end, she looked pretty in it nonetheless.

“How are you?” she asked, coming to stand next to him at the table.

“Fine,” he said, too quickly. “Busy. All your preparations are distracting from my usual duties.”

It wasn’t really fair to call the reorganizing of the camp, the mandatory polishing of every piece of equipment, the decorations, the cramped sleeping arrangements to make space for the new arrivals, and all the other little things ‘her’ preparations, but she merely quirked an eyebrow and let the comment slide.

“I know it’s been annoying,” she said, angling her head. “But they won’t be here long. Would you prefer to remain here when we move on to Therinfal?”

He blinked in surprise. It would have been hard enough to find the time to properly prepare their mission in a normal situation, let alone with all the extra commotion. Now she didn’t want him there anymore?

“I thought you wanted me to come.”

“I do,” she said quickly. “It’s not that… it’s just…” She glanced over at the door. “It means you have to put up with more of this stuff for longer. If you have health issues —”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

She drew a short breath, making the makeshift seams on her chest stretch a little so that her skin showed through the fabric.

“You’re not taking lyrium,” she said plainly. It wasn’t a question.

His hand began to reach for the back of his neck, but he forced it to take an awkward detour to one of his reports instead. “How… how do you know?”

“Ah…” A pink flush rushed to her cheeks and she looked away, scratching her ear. “I, ehm… smelled it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You smelled it?”

“Yeah,” she coughed, fiddling with one of the pins in her gown. “People who take lyrium… It’s a particular smell. Like… when you step outside after a thunderstorm. I doubt you notice it when you take it, but I’ve been around enough templars to recognize it. You’ve, ehm… lent me your cloak. It didn’t smell like that.”

She continued to focus on the shaggy edge of her dress, twisting the pin between her fingers, before suddenly looking back up.

“Not that you don’t smell nice.”

He huffed a laugh, and she smiled uncertainly. “Thank you. I didn’t know you could tell by that.”

“I don’t think many can. Are you trying to quit? Does anyone here know?”

“I am, and Cassandra does,” he nodded. “She is to judge if it affects my duties too much.”

“I see… But you’re in pain.” Again not a question. He was under no delusions that he was good in hiding his thoughts and emotions, but was he really this obvious?

“The dreams… I don’t know if your brothers have them. Most templars do, in varying degrees. They’re getting worse. They make the rest harder.”

“They’ve been mentioned,” she said slowly, shifting her eyes away. “I’m not sure what to do about those, but I do know of some herbal remedies. My second eldest brother… he has some issues. He’s not like you, but there were some things that helped a little. Would you want to try them?”

He was about to say again that he was fine, that he could handle it, but her concerned expression stopped him. She was clearly worried for him. It was not something he’d experienced often, and it felt kind of nice.

“All right,” he said, shrugging with what he hoped communicated a certain kind of casual gratefulness. It probably didn’t. “No harm in trying.”

“Good,” she smiled. “I’ll see about getting the herbs then, I’m afraid we don’t have any on hand.”

She waited a moment, then reached over to place her hand over his. Hers was smaller, he noticed, slender and pale against the thick leather of his glove. Her touch was so gentle he barely felt it, yet he was more aware of it than had he’d been bashed over the head with a greatsword.

“Good luck, Cullen,” she said quietly. “I hope you succeed.”

The sincerity in her words caught him a little off guard. He swallowed and tried to think of a reply, while her hand seemed to burn on top of his, but he didn’t manage one before the door swung open again. She retreated in a flash and raised her eyebrows at the intruder.

“Come along, darling, we’re on a schedule here.” Lady Vivienne’s commanding voice cut sharply through his head, making him close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Tic-tac.”

Elsa lingered a moment beside him, but then he felt her move away. He waited until the door had closed again before he opened his eyes. Cassandra had been supportive when he told her, in her stern, brusque manner. He’d had to share what he was trying to do with her, but had refrained from telling anyone else. The reason was threefold. One, he didn’t want their concern, for concern too quickly turned into pity. Two, should he fail, the less people knew of it, the better. And third, he didn’t want to be seen as anything special. He wasn’t. He’d done worse than many other templars, said things far more extreme than many had ever even thought. But leaving at the point where most templars seemed to had lost their senses could be seen as a far bigger gesture than he thought it should be. He did not deserve that praise.

But Elsa hadn’t pitied him, nor had she elevated him to the level of some kind of saint. She wanted him to succeed, and help if she could. She didn’t need the extra worry, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret that she’d figured it out. The thought of them together surfaced in his mind, her preparing some kind of remedy, maybe reaching over to touch his forehead, or calming him down when he’d been dreaming. He sighed as the images dissolved, but the pleasant feeling lingered. Maybe there was an upside to this struggle that hadn’t been there ten years ago.

 

* * *

 

It was getting really problematic at this point, she thought. First she’d nearly jumped the man after they got Lord Abernache’s support, and now she probably would have done so if not for Vivienne’s intrusion. Was it something in the war room that made her more prone to these things, like some kind of invisible vapor coming out of the walls? Granted, all she’d wanted to go for was a hug, nothing inappropriate. Something to show her appreciation. Then again, she wasn’t at all sure she would want it to remain ‘just’ a hug once he put his arms around her — very nice arms they were, as she noticed when he was polishing his armor a few days ago — or if it ever could be ‘just’ a hug to begin with. And then there was the matter of… She shook her head, and shook the thought of Cullen with it from her mind, focusing her attention on the road where a long line of carriages was approaching the camp. _No distractions, not right now._

She ran through her list, making a satisfying mental ‘check’ behind each and every point. They’d thought of everything, she was sure of it. There was a certain limit to how prepared the cold mountain village could be to accommodate a bunch of spoiled Orlesians, but she felt certain they’d maxed out its potential. The village was clean, the fires blazing, the food steaming and ready. The people were buzzing behind her, all busy with their assigned tasks. Anything to make them seem like a well-oiled machine, an organization fit to save the world from a giant hole in the sky.

Josephine appeared beside her, her clipboard in hand on which she was checking a similar list to the one Elsa had just completed in her head.

“I think we’ve got everything,” she said, sounding a little astonished.

“I believe so too. Now it’s just up to our winning smiles and conversational skills.”

“In that case, we should have the Breach closed in no time at all,” Leliana replied, silently moving in on her other side.

“Didn’t they pledge their support already?” The annoyance was dripping from Cullen’s voice when he joined them. “Or don’t promises mean anything in the Orlesian court?”

“Promises mean everything, Commander,” Leliana said slyly, “The problem is that there are a great many, and they tend to conflict.”

“Rather we put our best foot forward, than have them change their minds,” Josephine said, no longer with the same bright tone as she’d had a number of days ago. The sentence had become her mantra of sorts, dulling with each repeat, and had been directed at Cullen more than a few times.

The commander sighed, but didn’t reply anymore. Elsa caught his eye briefly, lifted an eyebrow to inquire after his wellbeing, and he made a non-committal shrug in return. _Not great, not bad._ He was likely downplaying it, but she wouldn’t press him. She guessed he was more preoccupied with the matter at hand than his own concerns for the moment anyway, and soon she was as well, for the first carriage came to a halt in front of them.


	9. A Long Lane

The day and night before they left for Therinfal were surreal. Cullen noticed how much the camp had felt like home, and its people, while all having to deal with fear, hunger, makeshift sleeping arrangements and more, almost like a family. He’d experienced it before, how in the aftermath of something terrible people banded together and formed a connection that couldn’t be quite understood by the outside. In Kirkwall such a bond still lingered, though it had begun to wane by the time he left. The sensation had occurred again in Haven and was very strong among the people that had joined them. It made the atmosphere in camp hopeful, in spite of it being situated underneath a flaming chasm in the sky, and their people supportive of each other.

Now, however, it was like some kind of terrible holiday and their small family suddenly had to endure the arrival of a bunch of very distant relatives. The kind that you see maybe two or three times in your life, but have to show a certain amiability. The kind that brings you gifts you hate. The kind that gets drunk and vomits all over your floor and doesn’t help with cleaning up. The kind that, after one of the rare occasions that you’ve seen them, you promise yourself that you will never see them again.

The camp was hardly recognizable when he walked though it. Feathery heads and glittery outfits, despite their comparably small numbers, had taken over the horizon. Laughter didn’t sound sincere, conversations were about topics that he felt no one should be concerning themselves with in the current situation, and there was a sudden separation within their people that hadn’t been there before. Everything together was enough to make him feel extremely uncomfortable. Leliana had her ravens and her spies, while Josephine had her room with her quills and meetings. The camp had been his, and his lingering headache made it hard to not resent the others a little bit for how much they’d messed with it.

One look at Elsa was enough to soften that a little, though she too, like their plan to approach the templars, felt like a double-edged sword. She looked beautiful, that was the good part. The outfit that had looked like a collection of rags and pins before had turned into a deep-blue gown, sewn with gold thread. Lining her shoulders was a snowy-white fur, which flowed into a silver cloak that reached to the ground. The fabric shimmered when she moved and seemed to flow around her like water, reflecting tiny flecks of color that sparkled in the muted sunlight. It too had been embroidered, though be it in white, and showed symbols and imagery connected to the Chantry. Enough to suggest her identity as the Herald of Andraste, but not so much as to come off as boastful.

As much as he liked to look at her, however, she also felt further removed from him than she ever had before. She was dignified, graceful, eloquent, charming; all the things she’d been before, but that he’d slowly grown less intimidated by as he got to know her better. Now, surrounded by her peers, he was again reminded of just how vastly different she was from him. She’d said she disliked the Game, perhaps as much as he did, but that didn’t change that she clearly was at home between its players. She laughed at their jokes, asked them questions, showed them around camp, all with the same bright smile. It wasn’t the smile he’d seen from her in the war room, but he wished it would be less convincing nonetheless.

He stayed away from the party as much as he could, though sadly the party was not keen on sharing that sentiment. As he went about his business, he did his best to give off an air of professional, polite unapproachability. It worked quite well, though the look Josephine was giving him made it seem that perhaps the ‘polite’ part could use some work. Unfortunately it was far from foolproof. Whenever he managed to get away, took a deep breath, and dared to think he’d be able to get some things done, an elderly woman kept showing up, asking him questions about what he was doing and having a general lack of respect for personal boundaries. She was large and wrinkly, wearing several strings of pearls that dug into her thick neck and what seemed like dozens of rings spread over her sausage-like fingers. The stones sparkled green in the light of the Breach whenever she reached over to touch his arm, giving a little squeeze each time like she was testing a piece of fruit for ripeness. He wasn’t sure what to make of her interest in him, though it sent alarm bells ringing in his head nonetheless. The look the watery eyes were giving him from below their thickly painted lids and lashes was not one he felt anyone should be able to once they’d passed a certain age.

There was a dinner in the evening, constituting of food much more elaborate than the gruel they’d largely been sustained on for the past months. By lack of any other suitable venue the Chantry had been transformed into a makeshift dining hall, with wooden tables set up in a U-shape. Like everything else, the new configuration and the sudden surplus of food felt alien and frivolous. Elsa sat at the head of the formation, with the lord that had won over the other nobility (and Cullen didn’t remember the name of) on her one side, and Mother Giselle on her other. He’d hoped the Inquisition’s leadership would be seated together, but they were spread among the nobility instead. To his relief he was positioned far away from the old woman and next to a man in his fifties, Duke Dufort, who had invested his surplus of time and money into a personal collection of siege engines. His knowledge on them was extensive, and while Cullen still couldn’t quite get over the ridiculousness of the whole situation, his evening was not a complete bust as they discussed specifications and mechanics.

Throughout the night he found himself continuously glancing across the room towards Elsa, hoping to catch her eye. He never did. She was occupied at all times, smiling politely, chuckling at jokes, looking with interest at her conversation partner. The table setting had been a disappointment, her complete lack of interest in him was a bigger one. The daydream of her that he’d momentarily entertained felt silly now, especially now that his expectation of the Orlesian visit couldn’t be more different from how he’d imagined it either. He’d hoped be would be by her side throughout, that she’d turn back to him with that spark in her eye and quietly joke with him about their guests, maybe that she’d shield him from elderly women with lascivious intentions… Unrealistic, perhaps, but he hadn’t thought it plausible for her to completely disappear either. His head throbbed when he heard her laugh and he excused himself from the table. Josephine threw him another glare, but he ignored it. Elsa knew where to find him if she needed him, he thought bitterly to himself as he stomped back to the tent he was sharing with Fletcher for the night.

_Not that she does at the moment._

 

* * *

 

_I want to murder someone._

“I have recently taken quite an interest in Antivan rugs. The craft can be traced back as far as before the second blight, but you notice a clear shift in how the material is handled from the Glory Age.”

_I’ve never wanted to murder someone._

“History through a carpet, isn’t that wonderful? Many people believe it’s all about the depictions, but there is so much you can tell just from the thread count and the stitching. You see…”

_I’ve killed people. Is that why? Maybe I would have wanted to kill people earlier, if I’d had the experience before. Maybe the tea parties back home would have turned out very differently if I’d had to shoot someone when I was younger._

“But of course you don’t get results like that if you try to industrialize the practice. Sure, a few workers may lose their sight working on designs so intricate, but if you see the results it is absolutely worth it.”

_Does everyone who has killed people feel this way? Does Cassandra want to kill someone right now? Varric? Cullen?_

She shot a quick look over to where the commander was sitting while Abernache prattled on about his hobby. Though he didn’t look particularly happy, he didn’t look murderous either.

_Maybe it’s just me._

“Absolutely fascinating, my lord. Pray tell, is there a noticeable influence of the Qunari invasion on the craft?”

The man’s eyes lit up and he nodded approvingly at her question, before launching into a lecture on pre- and post-invasion rugs.

_That should keep him busy for a while._

She used the moment he had his drink refilled to cast another glance across the room. She’d seated Cullen at the end of the table so he only had to endure one conversation partner and, judging from the fact he was actually engaged in a conversation, Dufort had been a good choice to put next to him. During the day he’d largely kept away from the fuss, a barely contained scowl on his face whenever she’d caught a glimpse of him. She’d seen the Dowager stalk off on more than one occasion, which sadly she couldn’t very well do anything against, but he seemed to manage all right. The way he’d squinted against the sunlight and closed his eyes on occasion suggested a lingering headache, the kind she’d seen often enough in Nicolai, but it wasn’t something she could do much against. Perhaps she could find the herbs she needed on their way to Therinfal, but with how the nobles had been clamoring for her attention it seemed unlikely she’d find the time.

“Wouldn’t you say so, lady Herald?”

_Crap… what did he say?_

“I am terribly sorry, my Lord,” she said gently, flashing her most pleasing smile. “I’m afraid I was quite diverted by that magnificent ring you wear. A ruby, is it?”

“Ah, yes,” he laughed. “The price of good fashion. It does distract from conversation!”

She shared in his laughter, while silently imagining how easily she could fell him with one of her arrows.

 

* * *

 

The next morning was full of confusion. People ran up and down, haughty voices called out orders, and the belongings that had come out of the many carriages were stashed back inside them with a lot more effort than they logically should. But eventually they were off, and Cullen couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief when the line of coaches pulled away from the camp.

He himself followed on horseback, as did Elsa’s companions and the small squad of soldiers that accompanied the caravan. She herself was seated on the destrier that Dennet had bestowed upon her, dressed in a light armor using a similar color scheme as her dress and wearing the same flowing cloak. Her long hair was half braided up, half flowing free, with loose strands curling around her face. It fluttered behind her as she sped up to a trot, circled around the front most carriage, and came galloping back along the line. She looked almost ethereal, undoubtedly by design, and he felt sure he wasn’t the only one thinking it. This knowledge might have cheapened the effect, were it not so perfectly executed.

Though it was only a couple of days ride to their destination, he couldn’t recall time ever moving slower than it seemed to do during the way there. It started when they had barely made it out of the mountains, and some of the carriages came to a sudden halt as the ladies inside them gasped and squealed at a typical Fereldan village. While Haven had been severely criticized because of its location, this one was observed with a certain condescending endearment, as the women commented on the window boxes, the cobblestone paths, and the thatch roofing. They might have had to make camp there and then, had Cassandra not sent Elsa over to convince them to continue, though it still took a full hour of sightseeing before they were on their way again.

The second hold-up happened when one of the carriages, clearly built for city roads rather than the country, got stuck in a bog. The couple inside acted as if they were about to starve to death, despite them only being surrounded by an inch or two of muddy water. The servant who had been driving their vehicle received an earful that made Cullen quickly send in his own soldiers to help free the carriage, though by the time they got it loose the rest of the entourage had decided it was a good moment for a break. Foldable tables and chairs had been conjured up from seemingly nowhere, as well as pots of tea and refreshments. He stared for a moment at the baffling sight of a bunch of Orlesian nobility having a deluxe picnic in the middle of a field, before ordering his men to retreat as far away from them as possible.

These were only the first instances in a long series of delays that made him close his eyes and take a deep breath to fight down his increasing frustration, not to mention the fact that it took them forever in the mornings to get going, and they had to make camp the moment the sun went down. After what should have taken them under a week, but took almost two instead, they finally made it to the Southron Hills and had, Maker willing, only a day of travel left until they would reach the old fort.

Cassandra sat next to him at the fire that evening, clearly feeling dejected. She hadn’t said much throughout the trip, her face effectively mirroring his own experience of it. Now she stared into the flames, her eyes far away, until a loud, shrill shriek of laughter from the nobility camp made her look up. If looks could kill he felt certain she would have had a lot more deaths on her name than she already did, and the group sitting by the other fire would have perished within moments. Elsa was one of them, however, so he was still glad they couldn’t.

“The templars better make this worth our while,” she said grimly.

Feeling at least partially responsible for their current situation, he uncomfortably focused on drawing circles in the dirt with his sword.

“They’ll have to listen with this much pressure,” he shrugged. “And Elsa’s reputation as the Herald has only increased, with Josephine’s and Leliana’s help. She should be able to use the dissent among the ranks to win their favor.”

“There is that at least, if the nobles aren’t convincing enough. I’m not sure what we’ll do if this fails. If the rebel mages know we approached the templars first, I doubt they will still be as willing as they were before.”

“Don’t forget to tell Sterling that,” Varric muttered further away. “I’m sure she can use some more pressure.”

Cassandra arched an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. “Varric?”

He was lying on his back, scribbling in a notebook. “It’s all up to her, is it?” he said casually, not looking up. “Herding this group of cats towards the templars, make sure no one gets offended in the process, be all Heraldic while doing so? Better make damn sure they come with too, otherwise the world will end. I’m sure you’re being a great help to her though, sighing and eye-rolling from the sidelines.”

Cullen could feel Cassandra bristle beside him. “We are helping,” she said indignantly.

“Sure you are, Seeker,” the dwarf replied, snapping the book shut and getting up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised to do a reading of one of my books. I’ll be sure to come complain about it afterwards though, since that seems to be how we help Sterling best.”

“She seems fine,” Cullen mumbled, glancing over at the straight-backed silhouette of the girl that seemed to be engaged in animated conversation.

Varric merely sighed, letting his eyes roll up to the sky, and walked away with an air that managed to convey an impressive amount of exasperation.

“We are helping,” Cassandra repeated once he’d gone, and added, a little less certain, “Right?”

“We’ll be more able to in case there is trouble,” he said decisively, though he couldn’t ignore the small twinge of guilt. “She didn’t ask us along to socialize.”

“Right,” Cassandra nodded.

They sat in silence for a while after, though the slight awkwardness the dwarf had instilled didn’t go away.

“How are you doing?” the Seeker asked eventually. He wondered to which extent she was genuinely interested and to which she was merely looking for a change of topic.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he replied. “You’ll be the first to know if that changes.”

“I’m not asking for your job performance, Cullen,” she frowned. “I care about your well-being.”

“Oh…”

It wasn’t the same as when Elsa had shown her concern, but he felt oddly touched nonetheless. What had happened in the last years that he’d grown so unaccustomed to people caring about him? … Actually, that wasn’t a very hard question to answer.

“I’m not great,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck. “But I’m handling it.”

“All right…” Cassandra said slowly. “Let me know if I can do something.”

“I don’t think there is anything.”

“Probably not… but I mean it anyway.”

He huffed a laugh, which she answered with a thin smile. “Thanks.”

She nodded and focused her attention back on the other campfire. “Several of those people have been wanting to talk to me,” she sighed. “I guess I might as well.”

She got up, stretching her neck and rolling her shoulders back, and was indeed greeted with enthusiasm by quite a few when she joined the other group. Cullen decided against following her example, though he felt certain there were some eager to talk to him as well. Duke Dufort had continued to seek him out, clearly happy to find someone who shared his interest, even though Cullen couldn’t muster up the same level of inexhaustible enthusiasm, and the elderly lady hadn’t given up her quest on him either. Even now she seemed to be eyeing him from across the camp and he quickly got up, deciding to take a walk before retiring. Tomorrow would be a very bad day to be tired, though a long night’s sleep was not as reliable as it once was.

He walked out of the small forest they’d used as cover for their camp and came to a clearing, instantly feeling the openness of it lift some of the pent-up tension from his body. He brought his arms overhead and stretched from side to side, noticing how his muscles were cramped from the long days in the saddle and the lack of his regular training. He looked back towards where their camp was and paused a moment, before shrugging to himself and pulling off the outer layers of his travel armor. _Why not?_

He began with a round of push-ups, followed by crunches, and rounding it off with another set of stretches, before picking up his sword and going through some combat drills. It was odd, the mental change that happened once he picked up his weapon. As much as he’d fumbled with his wooden practice sword as a boy, from the first moment he’d held one it had felt ‘right’. Suddenly there was no time to wonder, no insecurities, no doubts, no worries. Only him and the adversary before him, and a dance of moves and tactics that would decide life or death. It was a game as well, one with the only stakes that really mattered, and this one he played very well. Perhaps he was useless to Elsa at the moment, perhaps even making things harder, though he hoped he wasn’t. But should the reason she asked him along come to pass, he would not let her down. At least of that he could be certain.

He advanced on his imaginary foe, sending quick slashes through the air to drive the man back. He was imagining fighting another templar, he noticed, anticipating the way the knight would hold his shield and where he would try to direct his sword. Having not only followed years of the same training, but having trained recruits for many as well, would undoubtedly come in handy should trouble arise. Still, there was something unnerving about preparing to fight his former brethren. The last time he had… it had been his commander at the other end of his sword.

He paused, his sword freezing in mid-air, before slowly retracting his stance. The Order he was once a part of would never attack a group of nobles or something like the Inquisition. But after reading Elsa’s reports on the Hinterlands, their behavior in Val Royeux, and seeing how more and more of his men turned away from him in Kirkwall… he was not at all certain they weren’t looking at another situation like Meredith. It made him shiver, though the cold night digging into his thin shirt was probably contributing to that as well. A drop of sweat ran along the side of his face and he reached up to swipe it away. The headache seemed to have gone down at least, though an incessant throbbing still lingered at the back of his mind. He turned back to find his clothes, when he froze again. Someone was standing at the edge of the forest, observing him with an amused smile. Her hair was loose, shining in the moonlight as it gently drifted in the wind, while she leaned with her back against a massive oak tree. Their current location was certainly pretty, which added to the picture, but he began to think Elsa’s unique features could make her look exquisite in any locale.

“You have good form,” she said when he came closer.

“How can you tell?” He reached down to grab his shirt from the ground beside her, using it to wipe his forehead before pulling it over his head. “Are you secretly a templar?”

“Far from,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “But I’ve read books on sword fighting, seen my brothers practice. I know templars are all exceptional warriors, but you can’t all be equally good. You are skilled, however, I can see that much.”

He’d spent enough time on recruits he felt were hopeless to know that to be true. “It’s odd to find someone with such an affiliation to the Order who isn’t a part of it,” he said slowly. “Most people don’t care.”

She produced a flask from behind her back and handed it to him. He’d expected it to be water, but it was a light wine instead. She shrugged when he quirked an eyebrow at her.

“It’s like I’ve been spending time with my mother for the last two weeks, multiplied by a dozen. Anyone could use something to take the edge off that.”

“Your mother is hard to take?”

“Anyone’s mother a dozen times is hard to take,” she said simply. “How are you coping with the circus? I’ve noticed you’ve kept to yourself.”

“Yeah,” he said, focusing on the ground. “I’m sorry I haven’t been more help.”

She blinked, clearly surprised. “More help?”

“Varric said that maybe I haven’t been supportive enough… with all this.”

“Ah,” she said, flashing a grin. “Don’t worry about that. I think Varric feels a little protective of me.”

There was something that felt fundamentally unfair about that statement.

“We all feel protective of you,” he muttered.

She took the flask back and looked at him, a soft smile slowly forming on her lips.

“I know that. What I mean is…” She took a breath and looked up at the sky for a moment, taking a sip from the wine. “Varric is worried I am not being myself while I do this,” she said, gesturing back towards the forest, “or that I forget who I am while acting the part that’s required of me. The thing is that, while I might prefer to spend my time in other ways, I am myself while I am doing this. It’s part of the world, and it’s a part of me.”

“But… you said you don’t like the Game,” Cullen said, frowning. Though this was better for her, part of him had hoped she’d secretly been hating the whole situation as much as he had.

“I did,” she nodded. “I also said that we’re a part of it anyway. I can only decide not to play, which will not help anyone. And they’re not so bad, you know… some of them.”

He snorted in disbelief before he had a chance to stop himself, which made her laugh.

“However,” she continued, smiling, “I wouldn’t want you to think this is more ‘me’ than how I’ve been around you. Like…” Her hand reached up to stroke her hair back and she shifted her weight. “Like this is the real me and I’ve been acting around you. That’s not true.”

Something suddenly felt thick in his throat and he swallowed in an attempt to get rid of it. “Does it… Does that matter to you?”

A short pause, in which the grey eyes flitted away and back, seemingly not finding something to settle on, until they focused on the ground.

“It does,” she said, prodding with her toe at a tree root. “I like spending time with you, I… have missed it these last weeks. I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

“I could never do that,” he said quickly.

She huffed a laugh. “You have already, and yes, you could,” she said, smirking. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned his shoulder against the tree, while she continued to chuckle softly. She held one hand to her mouth, her other arm wrapped around her body, again as if she were trying to keep the emotion from spreading too far. Something about it made her seem younger than the twenty-something that she was, and it was quite endearing.

“I’ve missed… spending time with you too,” he said softly.

There was an atmosphere that he’d never felt before, but recognized anyway. As she met his gaze, the air grew so thick he could almost taste it, loaded with anticipation and ready to ignite at the smallest spark. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t have looked away from her eyes looking back at him. She was worried about something, that much he could see, yet she made no attempt to break the spell either. He reached up, hovering still for a moment, before touching the silvery strands of hair hanging down the side of her face and stroking them back. There was a flutter in her breath when she angled her head to meet his fingers and let her eyes fall closed with a deep sigh.

He could spend the rest of his life meeting perfectly pleasant nobles, he now was certain he would never — _ever_ — grow to like a single one of them. A loud crashing in the undergrowth made Elsa look up with a start, while he swiftly retracted his hand. The Dowager Countess was moving through the forest some distance away, searching for something. Apparently she hadn’t spotted them yet.

“Probably noticed you’d gone,” Elsa muttered darkly. “Go. I’ll intercept her.”

“Elsa…”

She looked back at him, a careful smile playing around the corner of her mouth.

“When this is over.”

“... When this is over,” he repeated. He quickly gathered the rest of his things under his arm and briefly took her hand, giving it a small squeeze before making his way back to camp. He could feel her squeezing back long after she’d let go, after he’d reached his tent and tied it safely closed, and even after he’d lay down on his bedroll, where his daydream was suddenly very much at the forefront of his mind again.


	10. The Wrong Horse

The fortress was visible several hours before they reached it. It was in better condition than he’d expected it to be. Had the bulk of the Order kept themselves busy with cleaning up rather than defending the world from tears in the Veil? Banners fluttered in the sharp wind that had started up and fires were lit to guide them towards the gate as the sun began to sink behind the mountains. Cullen surveyed the outer walls from the start of the bridge, running the blueprints he’d memorized through his mind and checking the information against what he could see. He’d anticipated the layout to be different due to collapse and neglect, but if the inside was in similar condition as the outside it would be a problem less to worry about.

The nobles had scattered upon arrival and had been met by several templars who were keeping them at bay. This did not go over well, naturally, and all around him he could hear voices complaining loudly and questioning the knights about their behavior. They were effective at that at least and made the grown men squirm in their place with guilty looks on their faces. He didn’t feel sorry for them.

“Are we ready?”

The silver cloak swirled around her as the gusts of wind blowing through the passage violently tugged on the delicate fabric. Her hair was fully braided today, though the gale had torn several strands loose from the intricate style.

“You’re not armed,” he observed.

Harrit had used the small supply of ash he had in crafting her a new bow, whitening the wood even further to fit with her image. He’d seen her try it out in the shooting range some days before their allies arrived, much to the amusement of the army. Varric had thrown a variety of objects —ranging from different varieties of fruit to things as small as a button — into the air for her to shoot down. She hadn’t missed a single one.

“I don’t want to give the wrong impression,” she said, though she didn’t seem very certain of her own words. “We’re here to talk.”

“None of those knights are going to lay down their sword when meeting you. Please, bring your weapon.”

She frowned for a moment, then nodded. He gestured to one of his men to fetch her bow and arrows, while the others gathered behind them. All of them were, to his relief, armed to the teeth. She cast him a grateful smile and seemed a bit less nervous once she’d slung the quiver over her shoulder and strapped the longbow to her back.

“Do we have a plan here?” Varric asked. “This place isn’t giving me a particularly welcoming feeling.”

“One of the templars wrote to me,” Cullen replied. “You saw him in Val Royeux. He inquired after our intentions and seems to be seriously questioning the Lord Seeker. Even if Lucius won’t be convinced, others might rally behind him instead.”

“We should find him then.” Cassandra stepped forward to flank Elsa’s other side. “And your brother, when we have the chance. The more of them on our side, the better.”

A faint line formed in Elsa’s forehead as she continued to look down the bridge.

“I do not think we will,” she said softly.

“It is an outrage!”

Before anyone could answer her, their attention was drawn to (“Abernache,” Elsa whispered to him) coming down the bridge towards them.

“The Lord Seeker won’t meet with us until he has met with ‘the Inquisition’ personally,” he huffed. “After your spat in Val Royeux, I was not aware he was so taken with you, my lady.”

“That is news to me as well, my Lord,” she replied. “Perhaps the Lord Seeker has seen reason at last?”

“Not enough to not keep ten of Orlais’ most noble houses standing out on his doorstep,” the man grumbled. “Come then, let us go and meet him. It is time these templars were set straight. The Chantry has always been too soft on them, if you ask me.”

Cullen stood frozen for a moment, glaring at the bobbing hat of the man leading them towards the garrison. Cassandra gave him a look that said, _just ignore him,_ and he quickly moved to join Elsa. She had her gaze fixed on the gate, while her brow was furrowed in concentration. Though her gait was still floaty, she seemed to be struggling in maintaining an even pace.

Abernache had gone ahead, and had puffed himself up like an angry peacock by the time they got there, when the templar he’d been introduced to brushed past him to meet them instead.

“Commander Cullen?” the knight asked.

“Barris?”

“Yes, ser,” Barris nodded. “It is good to meet you in person. I did not expect you to bring such… lofty company.”

Abernache took this as an invitation to retaliate for the man’s previous rudeness, but quieted down when Elsa raised her hand, smiling gently.

“It would seem our company is the only reason you are willing to receive us, ser Barris,” she said, focusing back on the templar. “I remember seeing you in the capital. May I ask why you have been holed up here, instead of doing your duty?”

He glanced momentarily at Abernache, then stepped towards them. “I wish I knew, my lady,” he said in a low voice. “I apologize for that display you witnessed. The Lord Seeker… he is not making any sense. This… promise of status has garnered his interest. Especially in you.”

“In the Herald?” Cassandra asked, protectively closing in on Elsa.

“Yes.” Barris seemed as puzzled by this development as any of them. “He wishes to meet with you. From what we hear, he has talked of little else ever since he heard you were coming here.”

“From what you _hear_?” Cullen said sharply.

“He… does not share much with the lower ranks, ser,” Barris replied, his expression darkening. “The senior officers are the only ones who see him regularly, and they too remain silent.”

An all too familiar uneasiness had stirred in his chest, slowly clenching tighter around his lungs. He wasn’t being paranoid… this was Meredith all over again.

“But you will not leave?” Elsa asked, angling her head. “Even when you see his orders are not reasonable?”

Barris sighed and looked away. “It is not so simple, my lady. But if you gain his support, the Order will stand with you. I guarantee it.”

“I understand,” she said, though the frown didn’t lighten from her face. “You better take us to him then, ser Barris.”

He gave a curtly nod and ignored Abernache’s sneering comments as he turned away and led them inside. They followed him through the massive gates and headed towards the inner courtyard. Cullen glanced around him, taking note of how many guards were stationed where and which weapons they were carrying. Cassandra was doing similar, he noticed, curling and unfolding her hand around the hilt of her sword as she went. Glad he wasn’t the only one planning for the worst, he decided to focus on Elsa instead. He’d almost missed the fact that she had moved ahead to catch up with Barris, and quickly increased his pace to keep up with her.

“Tell me,” she said to the knight, keeping her gaze straight ahead. “Do you have a recruit here by the name of Trevelyan?”

“Trevelyan?” Barris came to a halt besides a wooden pole with a wheel mounted on the front of it and raised an eyebrow. “A family member, I presume?”

“My brother,” she replied. “Myca Trevelyan of Ostwick.”

He glanced shortly towards Cullen before looking back at her. The moment of silence was enough to confirm what she had probably been expecting since their arrival at the keep. Had her brother been here, there would have been no reason for the Order to not have him meet her outside.

“I am sorry, my lady. There has not been anyone here by that name.”

It felt that the message required more ceremony than that, but it received none. Cullen felt himself deflate a little, while the rest of the party shifted uncomfortably behind them. He looked at Elsa, but there was nothing to show her disappointment. She merely looked at the knight before her, nodded, then turned her attention elsewhere.

“We have numbers across Thedas, lady Herald,” Barris said carefully. “He might —”

“Where is the Lord Seeker?”

“Ah…” He straightened himself up, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “The Lord Seeker has a… request before you meet him.”

He gestured towards three banners lining the eastern wall, explaining of a rite which was meant to show them in what order she honored the imagery depicted on them. Elsa stared at the wall for a long time while Abernache piped up again. Eventually she glanced over to Cullen, one eyebrow arched.

_Is this familiar to you?_

He shook his head. If it was a rite among templars, it wasn’t one he’d ever taken part in. His commanding officers had had more important things to concern themselves with, he imagined.

A shadow pulled across her eyes at his answer, coalescing into a hard glint within each pupil.

“What my priorities are is irrelevant, ser Barris,” she said, turning around and fixing the man with her eyes. She sounded no less polite, but there was an edge to her voice he’d only heard a few times before, making each word cut sharp as a knife. “But I will tell you what I believe every templar here should have as their topmost banner.”

She pointed a finger at the banner depicting a lion.

“People,” she said. “People which you have effectively ignored when they needed you most. I will not partake in this rite. Please take me to the Lord Seeker. He has wasted enough time as it is and, frankly, he should be ashamed.”

“Hear, hear,” Abernache added smugly.

“Yes, my lady,” Barris replied with a small bow, looking quite taken aback by this sudden shift in attitude. He paused a moment, glancing at the rest of them and halting uncomfortably on Cullen. “He, ehm… was quite insistent that he would meet you alone. You and Lord Abernache.”

“That is not going to happen,” Cullen said simply. Though they were outnumbered by at least twenty to one, there was a tangible fear and discontent running through the courtyard. Whatever was going on here had them worried, and none were eager to cross them.

Barris hesitated a moment, but then seemed to decide that the odd request wasn’t worth the effort. Instead he turned away and headed towards the central staircase. Elsa remained where she was for a moment, taking in a long breath.

“You doing okay there, Sterling?” Varric asked, eyeing her with concern. “If you need a moment —”

“We have a mission,” she said decisively. “Let’s focus on that.”

Before anyone could say anything else she’d walked off and was following Barris up the stairs.

 

They waited in a common room of sorts, and as time dragged on and the Lord Seeker failed to show himself, Abernache was unable to keep quiet. He continued to berate the templars positioned around them, telling them of the uselessness of the Chantry, their true duty, and their failure to fulfill it. Elsa made no attempt to stop him anymore either, but merely stood still as a statue, her eyes fixed on the door through which their actual target was supposed to emerge. Cullen himself did his best in zoning out from the argument between the Lord and Barris, instead focusing on the room and the people within it. None of these knights had any intention of attacking them, that was the good part. What was bad, was the odd sensation creeping up the back of his neck, like a thousand ants crawling over his skin. He knew the feeling… but couldn’t quite place it yet.

The nagging sensation quickly turned to something much more determinable when the door finally opened. Several knights walked in, weapons drawn and eyes hazy with red. Notes of a song played in the corners of his mind, eerie and otherworldly… and unmistakable.

“Get back,” he told Elsa, unsheathing his sword as he stepped in front of her.

The templars around them looked at him in surprise, as did Cassandra, though she quickly followed his example. Elsa gave him a questioning look as she followed the order, but he merely nodded towards her bow. She frowned a moment, then took the weapon from her back.

“Is that how you try to win over new allies?” the knight-captain who had walked in simpered, eyeing the swords pointing at him from across the table. “I’m not sure that is clever given your position, do you?”

“Knight-Captain Denam?” Barris said uncertainly.

Denam’s gaze lingered on Cullen, who glared back. He didn’t recognize the man himself, but the look he gave him from behind his visor was one he’d seen more often than he cared for. The reddened pupils then snapped to Elsa, and a gleeful smirk twisted around his mouth.

“You were expecting the Lord Seeker,” he continued. “He sent me to die for you.”

“Aw,” Varric said behind them. “He shouldn’t have.”

“Knight-Captain!” Abernache exclaimed, clearly pleased to be talking to someone of rank rather than the second son of a Fereldan lord. “Lord Esmeral Abernache. Honored.”

The knight seemed about as interested in him as he would be in the collection of Antivan rugs the man hadn’t shut up about during their journey.

“Step back, my Lord,” Elsa said softly.

Though he kept his own fixed on the knight-captain and the archers beside him, Cullen felt hers trailing him, watching carefully for his next move. He wished the other templars would stop staring at them so dumbfounded and wake up already. Hadn’t Meredith’s story spread far enough for them to know the danger they were in?

“Have all of you taken red lyrium?” he asked.

Elsa’s eyes grew wide, but the man merely smiled at him.

“Commander Cullen, the deserter from Kirkwall. I’ve introduced several of your previous recruits to the new power. It’s a shame you were unwilling to embrace it.”

“It drove Meredith Stannard to madness,” he growled. “You have been feeding it to your brothers and sisters?”

The templars stirred now, murmuring to each other. Hands began to reach for swords and arrows and armor creaked as men and women took their battle stances. There was a quiet power struggle happening in the room, but he couldn’t yet tell in which direction the scales would tip.

“The Lord Seeker had a plan,” Denam continued, focusing on Elsa again. “But you ruined it. Sowing dissent, disrespecting his wishes. The fabled Herald of Andraste could do with learning some manners.”

Raised voices from outside reached them through the thick walls. Steel was striking steel, while explosions sent tremors through the ground. Barris stared at the door, shock now clearly registering on his face, before turning back to his commanding officer.

“Knight-Captain, I must know what’s going on.”

Cullen only faintly heard the answer he got, for more templars were making their way into the room. The song of the lyrium swelled — no longer single, detached notes, but turning into the haunting melody that had followed him in his dreams. Elsa didn’t need encouragement to move further back and take a position in between Varric and Vivienne, nocking an arrow and readying her bow as she went, while Cassandra and he closed in front of them.

Vivienne’s barrier shielded them from the flurry of arrows coming their way, though many of the templars around them were not so lucky. He ducked low to dodge the blow of one of the warriors, while Cassandra threw herself in front of another one coming their way. Chaos ruled for a few long minutes as they fought off their assailants. Tendrils of lightning sprung from Vivienne’s staff, ricocheting off the walls and making dust and rocks fly through the air. In the confusion it was hard to tell which of the templars were on their side, and which weren’t. Cullen very nearly skewered one woman, who quickly threw up her hands in surrender and swore she hadn’t touched the corrupted lyrium. In the split second that he decided what to do with her, he almost missed another templar charging him from behind. His weapon was raised in anticipation, but his veins surged with blue fire before he could bring the greatsword down and he dropped to his knees. Cassandra came into view behind him, eyes flaming and hand stretched out in front of her as she kept the man in her grasp, while Cullen quickly drove his blade through his neck, making blood spray from his helmet before he collapsed.

As the dust settled they checked the bodies, finishing off any of the corrupted templars still alive while Vivienne saw to the few survivors of the skirmish. Varric’s bolts were sticking haphazardly out of armor and flesh, while others were covered in slowly melting ice and sizzling burns. Denam had survived — though only barely, he was pleased to see — and Cullen quickly ordered the templar recruits to restrain him. More surprisingly, Abernache had somehow managed to survive the event as well and sat cowering in a corner, his mask and hat askew. Thinking that he probably should be more pleased their most prominent ally hadn’t yet been killed on their watch, Cullen wiped his brow with the back of his hand and looked at the scene around him, wondering why he felt that something was missing. The reason became clear the moment he looked back at Elsa.

She stood frozen, the same arrow that she’d readied still lying against her drawn bow, which she had pointed at the room. She was staring at the carnage in front of her, her eyes big and disbelieving. He quickly dropped his shield and stepped over one of the corpses to move towards her, and placed a hand over the one holding the bowstring back.

“Let go.”

She swallowed, nodded, then slowly released the tension on the string. Her arm trembled as she did, the muscles undoubtedly feeling the effect of keeping a longbow strained for minutes on end.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I thought I was over this.”

“Not being over it isn’t a bad thing, Sterling,” Varric said gently as he reloaded his crossbow.

“Right…”

“Are you okay?” Cullen asked. He could feel her hand shaking under his palm.

She looked at him for a long moment, before taking a deep breath, and the tremors in her body slowly ceased.

“Yeah,” she said on her exhale. “But what do we do now?”

He gave her an approving nod, before walking over to the door they’d come from. He opened it a fraction and looked outside. The quiet courtyard from before had turned into a battlefield as templar fought templar, red lyrium against blue.

“I’d like to get you out of here for a start,” he told her.

“And after that?”

“We need to get to the bottom of this,” Cassandra added. “The Lord Seeker has a lot to answer for.” She spat on the floor and wiped the blood from her mouth, before fixing Barris with her glare. “What is this Elder One he spoke of?” she asked, nodding towards Denam’s limp, bound body.

“I do not know, Seeker,” the man replied. “But I am determined to find out.” He then turned to Cullen. “I knew the red lyrium was trouble. I assure you that the lower ranks were never introduced to the stuff. They are fighting, ser, but we can use your help.”

Cullen gritted his teeth and cast another look outside, scenarios and possibilities whipping around in his mind. The front gates had been drawn shut, trapping the uncorrupted templars inside the keep to await their ‘purge’. Elsa’s safety was his first concern, for without her mark they had no chance to close the Breach at all, but he couldn’t see a way out. It was unlikely the officers had not covered the smaller side exists as well, and increasing numbers of ‘red’ templars were showing up on the walls.

Her hand touching the one clenched around his sword made him look away from the battlefield outside. The fear hadn’t gone, but some of the shock had left her eyes, making way for a calm determination.

“We need to see this through,” she said, her voice steady. “I can do it.”

His other hand closed over hers without thinking as he looked at her. She nodded, smiling softly, and he took a deep breath, squeezing shortly before he let go.

“Do you know where the Lord Seeker is?” he asked Barris, grabbing his shield from the floor.

“Yes,” the knight nodded. “We can reach him through the inner courtyard. Follow me.”

“Protect the Herald,” Cullen ordered, unnecessarily. The others were gathering around her already, forming a shield between her and whatever was awaiting them. “And cover lady Vivienne. I do not know what powers these templars possess.”

“Your concern is touching, Commander,” Madam de Fer answered. “But with respect, neither do you of me.”

Cullen smirked at her, before turning his attention to Elsa. He watched her close her eyes, breathe in as she lay another arrow against her bow, and slowly opening them again. A single nod in acknowledgement and they were off, out of the room and up the staircase, where their footsteps echoed ominously against the stone walls.

_Andraste preserve us._


	11. What Cannot Be Undone

The templars they’d encountered in the common room had been nothing. The song echoed against the walls of the courtyard, a thousand times louder than it ever had in the Gallows. Lyrium grew from under their armor and helmets, crackling and pulsing and trying to draw him in. It was only his fear of the stuff that kept him from licking his lips like a hungry creature — the distorted substance had a pull that was even harder to resist than its counterpart.

“What were these guys thinking?” Varric growled next to him. For once, there was no trace of humor in the dwarf’s voice. “Didn’t you tell anyone about your crazy-ass knight-commander when Hawke and I were hiding out?”

“I did,” Cullen replied through clenched teeth. _Three archers on the walls, two warriors, no way to see around the corner…_ The uncorrupted recruits were fighting, but most hadn’t made it up here yet. They were largely on their own for now. “I informed the other Circles of the red lyrium, but I don’t know what they did with the information.”

“I guess no one expected for it to start growing on the surface,” Varric replied, his eyes shifting around the courtyard as well. “But to ingest that shit? They’ve all lost their minds, I tell you.”

Though he had few other explanations than madness for the behavior of the Lord Seeker, Cullen felt himself getting angry nonetheless. Officers like Barris had trusted their commanders, and simply followed their orders. If they were to blame… he wouldn’t let himself entertain that line of reasoning, at least not for the moment.

“Was that the Lord Seeker?”

Elsa’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She was staring in the distance, and he quickly looked that way to see what she was seeing, but there was nothing.

“What do you mean?” Cassandra asked.

“That… voice?” she said uncertainly, focusing back on them. “You didn’t hear it?”

All shook their heads. Confusion registered in her face for a second, then she shook her own.

“Must have been my imagination. Let’s continue.”

He wanted to do something, ask her how she was or reach out to her. But the lyrium tugging on the corners of his mind made it hard enough to focus on the task at hand. Besides that, he felt sure she wouldn’t be receptive anyway. It pained him to see that the grey eyes had dulled over, far away and unreachable, but if that was how she could manage he wouldn’t try to throw her off.

“Focus on the archers,” he told her and Varric. “We’ll take those on the lower ground.”

“I’ve got you covered,” Vivienne assured them, already focusing her mana to coalesce at the tip of her staff.

They charged in while the others stayed behind, flanked by Barris and the few officers who had survived with him, and he could feel the barrier sliding over his skin before he’d reached his target. His first blow struck his adversary in the neck, shattering crystal and cutting through flesh, before the other had a chance to fully turn around. More approached from their other side, weapons raised and eyes glowing red, and he readied himself, side by side with Cassandra, shields raised high and swords at the ready.

Whether it was the lyrium that had corrupted their minds, he didn’t know, but these men no longer fought like templars. Their moves were reckless, their posture uneven. Two of them charged at them, but were quickly felled as they sidestepped their advances and struck them from behind. Others became slightly more careful after that, circling them with their shields raised but still barely containing their eagerness, like hungry wolves closing in on a prey. The archers came crashing down from their perches, screaming until they hit the ground. A quick glance in their direction showed more burns and crossbow bolts… but no arrows.

The pack that had closed in around them made its move. Metal glanced off his shield and the magical layer protecting his skin, while he caught the sword of one on his own. The man leaned in close, pushing his weight against him to break his stance. His raspy breath itched on his skin, and Cullen saw that he could no longer discern pupils in the white hot eyes that glowed red at their edges. He tensed his muscles and pushed back with force, making the knight stagger back, before slicing his sword through the air and cleanly taking his head.

A sharp blow to his side broke through the barrier and knocked the air from his lungs. Cassandra was quick to cover him while he caught his breath, and they repositioned themselves, backs pressed together and each covering one of their sides with their shield. Templars lurched at them from all directions, but couldn’t break through their defenses, until suddenly they stepped back. Unsure of what had changed Cullen searched around, only to barely see a mountain of a man, even larger because of the lyrium growing from his shoulders, charging at them with a shield as tall as himself.

He was upon them before they could act, slamming his shield into them and sending them hurtle through the air. They crashed to the floor, and a sharp crack in Cullen’s arm made him grit his teeth to bite back a scream. He looked beside him in a daze and saw Cassandra, blood trickling down her temple, raise her hand to summon her powers. The monstrous knight halted for a moment, but then continued to raise the massive mace he held in his other hand, readying himself for the killing blow.

He never saw the arrow hit. Suddenly it was there, sticking out of the knight’s visor. He continued to tower over them, stupidly holding his weapon in the air as if he wasn’t yet sure what had happened. A bolt of lightning struck him in the chest and the smell of burned flesh seared Cullen’s nose as the man’s veins lit up under what little was visible of his skin. Another arrow struck next to the other and, slowly, he sunk to the ground. Cullen had to roll aside to dodge the mace that dropped down, while the man himself slumped into an unmoving pile of bloody lyrium and armor.

More arrows lanced through the air, taking down the remaining templars with a single shot or two, while Vivienne appeared next to them. Her fingers deftly checked their bodies for injuries and he felt her magic course through him as she healed the most pressing ones. Her brow was beaded with sweat and each new spell seemed to take more out of the Iron Lady, but she stubbornly pressed on until she’d patched them both up. Cullen would have told her to stop and save her energy, but his attention was on Elsa instead.

The Herald was advancing beyond them, her pace steady and slow as she nocked arrow after arrow, taking down more red templars that had come spilling out of the upper keep. Her face was twisted with concentration, not acknowledging anyone else around her or even pausing after she’d sent another target howling to the ground in pain, until eventually new ones stopped coming. She stood frozen, her charged bow still pointed at the upper level, when something that he couldn’t identify darkened her expression even further.

Cullen quickly pushed himself up, ignoring the lingering pain in his arm even after Vivienne’s attentions, and went to meet her. Varric stood a little away from her and glanced uncertainly at him as he came towards them, his expression a mix of awe and worry.

“I think we’re good for a bit, Sterling,” he said tentatively. “You got them.”

She didn’t reply, but relaxed her bow, muttering something under her breath.

“Elsa?”

“I’m fine.”

She sharply looked at a point somewhere on the floor, angling her head as if she were listening to something, before giving it a small shake and looking up at him.

“You and Cassandra okay?”

“We’ll be fine…” Cullen replied, eyeing her with mounting concern. “Are you sure —”

“We should continue, no?”

“Yes… we should.”

The door behind them burst open and they whirled around, but it was no red templars coming through it this time. Some of the recruits from below had fought their way up and Barris, by now limping slightly and sporting a large bruise around one of his eyes, quickly walked over to them.

“Secure the perimeter,” he told some of them. “You three, come with us. We need to reach the Lord Seeker and get to the bottom of what’s been going on.”

Though the others were of the same rank, they nodded eagerly at his instructions and were quick to follow them. It seemed they were all too pleased to have anyone lead them who wasn’t obviously insane. Cullen fervently hoped their slightly bolstered numbers would make enough of a difference. Elsa had stopped muttering to herself, but her face was so pale she looked about to faint. The sooner they could get her out of here, the better…

The fought their way through and the higher in the keep they went, the more twisted the song became. It wasn’t a melody so much anymore as it was a hum, incessantly drumming on the walls of his brain, though something else began to creep in among the red haze. A presence, both familiar and completely alien. Something that lurked in the shadows, probing their minds. It sent a faint sense of déjà vu slithering around in his chest. Whatever was hiding here… it wasn’t from this world.

At last they reached the upper keep and, quite suddenly, all resistance ceased. An eerie silence fell over the dusky courtyard, only disturbed by a cold wind whistling through the cracks in the stones. The sounds of combat from the lower barracks were barely audible up here and they stood frozen at the edge of the deserted garden, mistrustfully eyeing its apparent tranquility. The temperature seemed to have dropped to below freezing, turning the air into ice in his lungs and making every hair on his body stand on end.

“Stay close,” he told Elsa. At first he couldn’t tell if she’d heard him, so distant she seemed to have become, until she gave a barely visible nod in affirmation.

They carefully moved through the courtyard, stepping over fallen templars as they went, until they reached the staircase where a lone figure stood at the top, looking down on them.

“Lord Seeker Lucius?” Cassandra whispered.

The man smirked, before turning away and disappearing from view. Cullen exchanged a look with the Seeker. Her initial shock and confusion had been replaced with rage, yet it was Elsa who took the first step, her gaze fixed on the top of the stairs. They flanked her as she continued to climb, slowly and decisively, until they reached the top. The Lord Seeker stood alone, unarmed and with his back turned towards them, though somehow more menacing than any of the disfigured templars they’d faced.

Though he couldn’t yet know what was about to happen, Cullen instinctively knew that every following moment would be forever etched into his memory. The world seemed to slow as he watched Elsa take another step forward, the fading sunlight reflecting in the loose strands of hair that whipped around her head, while the Lord Seeker turned towards her. His mouth twisted into a gleeful smile, before he suddenly dashed towards her like a hungry beast jumping its prey. Cullen yelled at him to stop, though his voice seemed to evaporate into a void with all other sound, leaving nothing but a suffocating emptiness. He moved to block the man’s path, but the gloved fingers managed to get past him and close on the white fur lining her shoulders. They gripped the delicate hairs with force and yanked them back, roughly pulling Elsa with him so she got knocked against Cullen’s shoulder. A shiver rang through the stone as he dropped his shield and chased after them, stretching out his hand to catch her.

Time came to a screeching halt as he felt his fingers clench down on the man’s arm. Elsa’s face was frozen in pure terror besides him, her eyes fixed on the malevolent grin of the Lord Seeker mere inches away. Then, suddenly, everything happened faster than ever. The knight’s face went from elated to shock within the span of a second, before he got blasted backwards and crashed through the doors behind him, while Elsa got thrown back as well. Cullen only barely caught her, stumbling back to keep them from falling while she struggled against his grip.

“Elsa —”

One of her hands flailed through the air and lashed him across the face. He let go of her instantly and she scrambled back, her eyes wide with fear. He barely felt his skin burning where she’d struck him as he stared at her. The girl he’d been so close to only a day before was standing as far away from him as she possibly could, frantically looking at the people around her as she took shuddering gasps of breath that shook her trembling body.

“Sterling?”

Her eyes snapped to Varric, who slowly inched closer, holding up his hands in front of him.

“It’s okay,” he said, not taking his eyes off of hers. “It’s only us.”

For a moment she seemed to calm down, until a sickening ripping sound made her jump. Cullen tore his gaze away from her only just in time to see the Lord Seeker disappear, morphing into a fleshy creature with long limbs and a twisted body. It raised itself up and let out a harrowing shriek, before vanishing in a puff of smoke and disappearing into the hall.

“The Lord Seeker?” Barris said, staring at the barrier that had sprung to life over the altar.

“A demon…” Cassandra replied, disbelieving.

“Envy.”

They all whirled around to look back at Elsa, who had wrapped her arms around herself. She seemed to have shrunk several inches and continued to tremble with every fibre of her being, but her eyes had lost the wild craze that had been in them a moment before.

“It’s called Envy,” she repeated in a small voice.

“Did it try to possess you?” Vivienne took several determined paces towards her, but halted when the girl shrunk back against the wall. “It’s all right, darling,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft. “I can help.”

“Please,” Elsa said, shaking her head, “I’ll be okay. Just… give me a moment.” She looked up and found his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Just don’t touch me. Please.”

He swallowed against the shard that had lodged itself in his throat. More than anything he wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t go near her, nor think of anything to say that would help. So he stood frozen, oblivious to the consternation among the templars in the Great Hall after seeing their leader turn into a demon and Barris rallying them to take the monster down.

Cassandra slowly moved towards her, holding the bow Elsa had dropped in her hand. She stopped a few meters away, held the weapon out to her, and waited.

“Surely you don’t expect her to continue _now_ , Seeker?” Varric said angrily, and Cullen felt himself sharing the dwarf’s indignation.

She didn’t respond, and instead kept her gaze firmly fixed on Elsa, who stared uncertainly at the bow.

“Our task isn’t done,” Cassandra said. “Envy is a powerful being, in their weakened state the templars might not succeed against it if we leave them now. And if the Herald of Andraste falters before them, they might not trust us to help close the Breach.”

“Cassandra!” Varric hissed. “Fuck the templars and what they think. They —”

“This isn’t the world you’re used to,” she continued, ignoring the dwarf. “But it is the one you live in. You can’t hide from it, and I believe you are strong enough to handle it.”

The girl’s expression darkened before them and she took a long breath, before meeting the Seeker’s gaze. For a moment Cullen wasn’t sure if she’d hit Cassandra as well or would turn away and march down the stairs, but she did neither. Instead, she took back her bow, held it in her hands for a moment, and drew another arrow from her quiver to lay against it.

“Let’s finish this then,” she said, the last of the tremors ebbing from her voice. “So that that creature may never crawl into someone’s mind again.”

“Sterling, you don’t have to.”

“Yes, Varric.” The corner of her mouth pulled up for the briefest of moments as she looked at him. “Thank you… but I do.”

The dwarf sighed deeply, then nodded, and cocked his crossbow with a satisfying clank.

“All right,” he said, resting the weapon on his shoulder. “Just know these templars don’t deserve you.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said grimly. “I am not doing it for them.”

 

While Barris and the rest of the Order held the hall, the extent of the templars’ madness only became clearer as their group explored the rest of the keep. While the corrupted templars before had been disturbing, their commanders were disfigured to a point where they were no longer even recognizable as human. Like abominations made of lyrium, they moved with unnatural speed, no longer using weapons but rather their misshapen hands to strike at them. Red crystal shot up from the ground around them and wherever they touched, while the stuff itself instantly continued to grow on whatever surface it came in contact with.

Cullen continued to look at Elsa when he could, but she never looked back. She was at Varric’s side, her face a hardened mask of determination as she took one shot after another, any more of the monstrous sights around them simply glancing off her, or being silently absorbed. A bust of the Orlesian empress stood in a chamber, surrounded by candles and with a crazed note hanging from a dagger piercing her forehead. Elsa paused in front of it, though her gaze was focused on a point behind the statue rather than on the object itself. For a moment he thought she might remove the weapon sticking out of Celene’s head, but after some time she just turned around, and walked from the room without giving it another glance. Letters that spoke of the willful installment of Envy in place of the Lord Seeker received similar treatment, as did a note they found next to a shipment of lyrium.

When they returned to the hall she barely looked at the templars, but merely went to stand at a safe distance as they prepared to break down the demon’s defenses. Cullen walked with her, though he stayed at a distance, and tried to focus on what was still lying ahead.

“Are you all right?”

He glanced at her. Her hair had largely come undone by now, and spilled down her shoulders. She kept her arms crossed in front of her as she watched Barris drink from the goblet. Everything from her stance, the messy mane of hair, and the dark glint in her eyes, reminded him of an angry, silver lion.

“With the lyrium, I mean,” she added.

“Yeah… Don’t worry.”

The relentless hum of the red stuff had lessened, though the pure song of the original lyrium sounded even more appealing than usual in its place. He swallowed as he watched the philter being passed around, grateful he wasn’t nearer to it.

“Are you okay?” he asked tentatively.

She huffed through her nose, a sound somewhere between a bitter laugh and a derisive snort.

“Am I okay?” she murmured.

For a while she seemed to ponder the answer, until she got distracted with the templars banging their swords against their shields as they fired themselves up for the ritual.

“Honestly,” she said through gritted teeth, readying her bow when more red templars came charging at them through the barrier. “I have no fucking clue.”

 

Cullen could feel the demon before it emerged, though Elsa clearly still shared more of a connection to the creature. She shut her eyes tightly and shook her head as they exited the keep, before cursing under her breath.

“Show yourself!” she snapped, glaring at the heavens. “You miserable cretin!”

Green light pulsed from the ground before her and she stepped back, drawing her bow as he and Cassandra moved in front of her. A strategy was quietly decided between them and he charged forward, while the Seeker circled around and approached the creature from behind. The sky cracked open above them, chilling the air as a freezing wind began to blow, while bolts rapidly lodged itself in the demon’s chest. Elsa’s arrows remained behind for a short while, but one skewered the monster’s wrist just before it almost took a successful swipe at him, making it recoil and vanish for a brief moment.

It continued to hide, flitting in and out of existence as it seemingly tried to find its way out or back into the Fade, morphing between its own shape and those of others. One moment he was facing Cassandra, while a second later it would be a nobleman, a Chantry mother, or the Lord Seeker. The weaker it became, the less it seemed to know its own identity, and its shapes became increasingly distorted — a Chantry mother with the legs of a nobleman, Varric’s head balancing on top of the Lord Seeker’s body, himself wearing Cassandra’s armor.

A spike sprung from the ground, throwing them back as the monster took its original shape with a loud crack. Cullen was the first back on his feet and charged in, his sword raised high to strike the last blow and finally end the nightmare, when he froze in his tracks.

Grey eyes were looking at him, silver hair flowed in the wind. He knew it wasn’t her, but there was something about her stance and the softness of her expression that made him unable to lift his weapon against her. She smiled, the way she had done only when they’d been alone, and took a step forward, gracefully gliding across the ground towards him.

The arrow struck her between the eyes and her face melted as she let out a harrowing shriek. Her limbs rapidly extended from her, growing pink and fleshy, while her body twisted and coiled. The monster lay sputtering on the ground, twitching but not dead, and the real Elsa appeared next to him, her face ablaze with fury.

“Kill it,” she ordered.

He raised his sword and plunged it into the creature’s chest, twisting it in place, and didn’t even retract it when it had stopped moving.

The others gathered around them, and Cassandra briefly touched Elsa’s shoulder. Though she no longer recoiled, there was no warmth in the Herald’s expression either. She continued to stare at the creature before them, unmoving, and didn’t even look up when the rest of them did at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Cullen wasn’t sure which store cupboard or chest Abernache had managed to hide himself in, but the man was alive and, miraculously, seemed untouched by the fight. Barris and the other templars were in lesser conditions, clearly drained from the effort of dispelling the demon’s barrier, but at least there were a great many who had escaped corruption. Somehow he felt that fact should make him happier than it did.

“Herald,” Abernache began uncertainly, “I sincerely apologize for losing countenance amidst the chaos. That was… unfortunate. I do hope it won’t affect our concord.”

Elsa closed her eyes, exhaling audibly, but didn’t turn around. The man shifted uncomfortably in his place, before deciding to retreat a step. Barris took his place, clearing his throat, and straightened himself up before speaking.

“The demon is dead. Andraste be praised; she shielded you from its touch.”

A snort escaped her, though Cullen didn’t think anyone besides him heard it.

“The templars are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us.”

Still she didn’t respond and kept her back turned towards them. A deafening silence hung over the shrine as she continued to stare at the dead demon lying at her feet, his sword still sticking up from its bony chest. Sounds of chafing armor cut loudly through the stillness as the knights readjusted their stances, their expressions mixes of different parts guilt and concern.

“You need to tell them something,” Cullen whispered eventually.

She shook her head. “I can’t even look at them right now.”

“I understand this is difficult, Herald,” Cassandra added in a low voice. “But we still need to close the Breach.”

“You tell them that,” she snapped.

Cassandra’s brow furrowed in concern, but her expression remained stern.

“It has to come from you.”

Elsa breathed another scoffing laugh and raised her head, fixing her gaze on the Breach hovering in the sky.

“All right,” she said after a moment. “It will come from me.”

She sharply turned around and walked towards the army awaiting her. Cullen couldn’t blame some of the men for shrinking back slightly. The air of fearsome regality combined with the feral anger that was radiating from her almost made him drop to the knee before her himself.

“You are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs from you?” she repeated. “Do you _really_ need me to tell you?” Her arm snapped out behind her, pointing at the Breach. “ _That_ should have been closed weeks ago, around the time when you forgot your vows to protect the innocent from harmful magic. If any of you remember what being a templar is supposed to be about, now is the time to show it. If you do not, I suggest you get out of my sight.”

Whatever image the knights had had of the Herald of Andraste before, it had probably been a more gentle version than the one standing before them. It didn’t seem to matter, however, for her words resonated through the crowd as strongly as they had through their own people. Affirmative murmurs sounded from all around, while backs got straightened and fists slammed into chest plates in salute. These men and women were eager to prove themselves, he could feel that, though he wondered if they’d ever be able to remake themselves in Elsa’s eyes.

“You speak truths we should never have ignored,” Barris answered. “But the Order is leaderless, gutted by betrayal. We must rebuild it.”

“That’s what they’re concerned with?” Varric muttered besides him.

Evidently he wasn’t the only one thinking this. Elsa turned away from the knight, probably because she couldn’t keep the frustration from registering on her face. She looked at the ground for a moment and took a deep breath, before looking back at Cullen. What she saw, he couldn’t tell, but slowly her expression changed. Her chest rose as she took another long breath and she turned around.

“Rebuild at Haven,” she said, almost with a sigh. Though her stance didn’t slack yet, her energy now seemed to be draining from her quickly. “Help us close the Breach and the only thing I ask is that you report to Commander Cullen. If anyone can guide your Order back to what it was meant to be, it will be him.”

Barris bowed his head in agreement, and turned towards him to salute, a gesture quickly mirrored by those standing behind him. Cullen breathed in deeply and inclined his head to them before looking over to Elsa. What gratefulness he’d felt in her giving the Order another chance was quickly dampened by the sadness that lingered behind the grey eyes. Her gaze rested on him for a moment before she turned around, and she weaved her way between the soldiers and out of sight. Varric and Vivienne quickly followed her, while Barris and others came up to him to discuss practicalities. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach, telling him that she wasn’t merely walking away, but rather walking away from him.


	12. Down the Garden Path

By the time they had performed a last sweep of the castle, destroying any red lyrium still stored away and checking every chamber for clues on the ‘Elder One’, the moon was already high in the sky. Cullen exited the keep and found that the nobles had already taken their leave, undoubtedly eager to get as far away from the castle as they possibly could. He himself couldn’t wait to leave the place behind either, and shortly resented the dark for making it impossible for them to do so.

He walked some distance into the forest until he found their camp. Cassandra was the only one still up, while Varric sat outside one of the tents, snoring softly with his chin resting on his chest.

“He won’t leave Elsa’s side,” Cassandra said quietly when he came to sit beside her. “Lady Vivienne retired the moment we had the tents set up as well. All the healing took a lot out of her.”

“She’s a good ally to have,” Cullen replied, and he began to unbuckle his armor. “It’s not often you find a mage with such a positive view of templars.”

“Do you think they deserve it? After today?”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “The officers weren’t to blame. It’s men like Denam that led them astray. During our sweep we found proof he knew of the red lyrium’s effects, yet he still fed it to his subordinates.”

She picked up a stick and began to poke in the fire. “He’ll be judged for his crimes. Are you comfortable leading them?”

He took a moment to think as he pulled off his gloves and bracers. They were crusted with blood and ooze, as was most of his armor, while his tunic stuck to his body from sweat. He pulled it off as well, enjoying the crisp night air on his bare skin, and walked over to the water through. A quick wash wouldn’t be enough to rid him off the day, and he wondered if any amount of bathing ever would, but at least the water granted some temporary relief.

“It’s… not what I expected after leaving,” he said slowly. “The Order has strayed so far I barely recognize it… but the Inquisition has given me a chance to make things right, I believe they deserve the same. So I’ll help them, if I can.”

She watched him a while longer as he finished washing, before getting to her feet. 

“I have not regretted my decision of recruiting you for one moment, Cullen,” she said, turning around when she reached her tent. “If they don’t make the most of this second chance, it won’t be because of you.”

“…Thank you, Cassandra.” 

She shot him a short smile and meant to turn away, but looked back when he called out to her. 

“Elsa…” he began uncertainly, glancing at the tent where Varric was slowly slumping further to the ground. “How is she?”

Cassandra sighed as she looked over to the tent as well. 

“I do not know,” she said. “She washed in the river, then went to bed almost immediately. But she has bounced back every time so far, I believe Andraste will give her the strength to see it through this time too.”

The scornful look on Elsa’s face as Barris had brought up Andraste surfaced from his memory, and he frowned at the canvas behind which she was, hopefully, sleeping peacefully.

“Cullen?”

The look the Seeker was giving him showed an uncharacteristic amount of concern. She hesitated for a moment, perhaps wondering whether it was her place or not to say what she wanted to, but then made up her mind.

“She seems very fond of you.”

He hoped their surroundings were dark enough that she didn’t see the color rushing to his face. Whether that was the case or not, he doubted it helped much in hiding the stutter in his voice when he replied, “I-I think she’s fond of most of us.”

“Not quite in the same way, I think,” she said gently. “Today was hard for everyone. Give her some time to recover, if she needs it.”

And as it turned out the next morning, she did. While several dozens of veterans had still commenced the march to Haven the day before, most of the officers would follow later once they’d finished gathering up any supplies left in the keep. It made that they only travelled with their own small party, for which he could tell all of them were grateful, yet the atmosphere was distinctly subdued throughout the journey.

They were able to leave early each morning and the lengthening of the days allowed them to make good time without a horde of nobility to slow them down. It was the longest period of time he’d spent in near constant company of Elsa, yet it felt like she wasn’t even there. She rode at the back of their group, her eyes not focused on anything in particular. At first Varric tried to cheer her up with stories or pointing out things of interest around them, but after barely getting a response from her for two days straight, he eventually gave up. She retired to her tent almost the moment they made camp, and didn’t speak a word whenever they had breakfast.

Once they reached Haven she hardly acknowledged Master Dennet or the people greeting her upon their arrival. She was barely more than a wisp, moving silently trough the crowd awaiting them and heading straight for her cabin, where she shut the door behind her. Varric cast him a sad glance as he handed off his pony to one of the stable boys, before heading over to his own lodgings, while Cassandra went ahead to report to the others. Cullen’s attention was quickly drawn away from the cabin by Fletcher and the work awaiting him, though he could feel her silent presence looming from inside whenever he passed by.

It was another late night when he had finally finished for the day. Fletcher had done well in his absence, though he hadn’t been able to resist double checking the man’s work, and there had been more than a few matters that needed his personal attention. Then there were the preparations needed for the arrival of the templars, like increasing the capacity of their camp and securing a larger supply of lyrium. He’d gone to get Leliana’s help on this, only to be drawn into an argument about their new allies. Fortunately Josephine was more pleased with the outcome of their mission and the spymaster had agreed to use her contacts in procuring the lyrium, though she’d continued to glare angrily at him from across the village for the rest of the day.

Cullen left his tent and stretched, looking out over the camp. He’d barely had the chance to enjoy the absence of nobility scurrying around in it, and took a deep breath… but even with his headaches not being as much of a bother for the moment, a plan to close the Breach finally becoming a reality, and no more guests to impress, he didn’t enjoy the surroundings in the same way as he’d done before. The Breach painted the snowy hills an unholy green, and reflected eerily in the frozen lake. Shadows were tainted too, morphing into demons in the corners of his eyes, but vanishing the moment he turned his head to look. 

He sighed and had almost gone back inside again when something moved at the edge of his vision. Half expecting it to be another trick of light, he only briefly glanced towards it, only to whip his head around in surprise. A figure had dropped down from the wall and straightened themselves up, making the dark hood they were wearing fall back off their head. A glimmer of silver briefly shone in the moonlight before it was hastily covered up again, and she vanished among the shadows of the trees. Cullen hesitated, though curiosity soon won over his legs, and he made to follow her into the forest, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

She moved fast, quietly and with purpose — whatever the reason for her nightly outing, it wasn’t merely a stroll. He followed as quietly as he could, though his boots crunched heavier in the snow than hers ever did, and he had to fall further back to make sure she wouldn’t notice him. Several times he thought he’d lost her and he increased his pace to catch up, only to come to a sudden halt when she had knelt down beside a large evergreen.

Hiding behind a tree, he watched as she scooped away the snow with her hands, before digging even further between the tree roots, grabbing fistfuls of dirt and tossing them aside. Eventually she pulled out a lumpy object with strings attached to it. Some sort of pouch or satchel, he noticed, one that would hold some coins and papers, but not much more. She held it in her hands and stared at it, before reaching inside and pulling out a small artifact he recognized even at the distance. His heart froze momentarily as it glinted in the dark, but jumped back into action when she got back to her feet and resumed her walk.

He didn’t know for how long he followed her — ten, twenty minutes, perhaps longer. She would be able to see him the moment she’d turn around, for they’d left the cover of the trees behind long ago, but somehow he knew she wouldn’t. Her gaze remained fixed in front of her throughout as she kept her steady pace, until eventually she reached a flat stretch of rock on the other side of the lake. He positioned himself behind a lone tree… and waited. 

She lowered her hood, allowing the haunting light to touch the silver strands. The wind tugged on the hem of her dress, making it billow around her feet and whip up the snow around her. She was still as a statue, her back straight and her head raised high, as she looked out over the valley where the village lay sleeping on the other side of the lake. 

Someone looking at her now from the outside would see the Herald of Andraste, staring fearlessly back at the Breach looming over her like a silent predator. It was like something out of a painting, and a few, short months ago he himself wouldn’t have questioned the image. But he knew better now. Even if her perfect posture still hid the weariness in her bones, her mask of tranquility the sorrow in her face, her distress was clear as day to him from the way her hand clenched around the item she was holding.

Then, slowly, he watched the Herald crumble… and Elsa Trevelyan break.

A strangled sob tore loose from her chest, making her convulse and clutch her stomach with her free hand. Her head dropped, dragging down her shoulders and rounding her back, and she sank to the ground, bracing herself against the stone with her clenched fists. Her body shook as she gasped for air, violent takes that seemed to drag her back by her core and release her with a snap, and her cries became louder, sounds of anguish more like those of a wounded animal than a person. 

She opened her hand, her entire body quivering as she looked at the object within, until a sudden rage flashed across her features. She raised her fist overhead and brought it down with a scream, smashing the glass vial against the stone. Blood spattered in all directions, red drops landing on her face and in her hair. She continued to shudder as she stared at the fragments, though the tremors in her body slowly began to fade away.

Cullen stepped out from his hiding place and moved towards her, unfastening his cloak as he went. She straightened herself up at his approach, but didn’t turn around. Perhaps she’d known he was there all along, or simply didn’t care. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t surprised to see him. Thin streams of blood trickled down her palm from where shards of the phylactery had dug themselves into her skin. She took his cloak with her other hand and draped it over her shoulders.

“Whose was that?” he asked quietly, full well knowing the answer.

She glanced up at him, and sighed.

“Mine.”


	13. Frame of Mind

Elsa lay in the dark for what felt like an eternity. She couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or shut, whether there was a ground beneath or walls around her. Her senses stretched out into the distance, every fibre of her being straining to pick up something, _anything_ , that would give her a clue as to where she was. 

There was nothing. She couldn’t tell if she was standing or sitting, cold or warm, awake or asleep… alive or dead. All that was there was the silence; no beginning, middle, or end, and nothing to tell her where she was within it. If only she could remember —

_“WHAT HAPPENED?”_

She flinched as a voice echoed through the void, shouting her thoughts at her from the darkness. _Her_ voice, she realized, sounding the same and completely alien. She’d never heard herself shout like that… She barely ever raised her voice. 

_Only make yourself heard when you need to, only say what needs to be said._

“NEVER LET THEM KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TRULY THINKING.”

The moment she thought the words, the silence hurled them back at her. Too loud… far too loud. It was everywhere, filling the air around her and resonating through her body like a drum. Involuntarily, her hands shot up and clutched at her hair. Every beat of the booming voice made her head feel like it was about to explode.

“Such wicked thoughts,” the voice said, less loud, but no less audible. “How very interesting.”

A vision of Cassandra surfaced from the dark, her sword drawn, her shield high. Behind her appeared a figure, silver haired with glowing eyes, with a bow in her hand.

“It would be most unfortunate if she died…” the woman said softly, drawing back the string.

The arrow lanced through the air, piercing the Seeker in the back. Elsa gasped as the warrior fell, staring at her in shock and confusion, before both women vanished in thin air.

“I would never do that!” she whispered.

“But you thought it…” her voice gleefully answered.

“No! I didn’t, I… I wouldn’t!”

The darkness began to billow and take shape again. Josephine and Leliana stepped out from the shadows, talking in low voices with their heads together.

“Here,” Leliana said, handing Josephine a set of papers. “I went through them. She can have them now.”

“Anything in them?” Josephine asked as she thumbed through the papers.

“Her mother knows how to hide her tracks. I’ll contact my scouts in the Free Marches. We’ll know what they’re hiding soon enough.”

“We should have known not to put our faith in her. Ostwick nobility… Have you ever heard something more ludicrous?”

Their high-pitched laughter lingered long after the mirages had dissipated, stinging in Elsa’s chest like needles. She drew a shuddering breath and shook her head, trying her best to drive the nasty feeling away.

“They don’t think of me that way.”

“Maybe not now…” whispered her voice. “But what about when they find out?”

Before she could answer, the dark began to change again. A shimmer, like candlelight reflecting in liquid, shone from the endless depths. It came closer, quietly, the faint rustling noise of metal chafing over leather muffled by the silence. A familiar silhouette gradually came into view, but the expression on his face was one she’d never seen before.

“Abomination,” Cullen growled, his voice carrying nothing of its warmth. “This is the last time I’ll be tricked by your kind.”

Another vision of herself materialized as he drew his sword and pointed it. She was sitting on the floor, hair loose and eyes on fire, staring up at him as power coalesced around her hands. A fiery blaze engulfed the figure when Cullen moved to strike, rapidly evolving into a blinding flash. Elsa covered her eyes and ears as she shrank back into the dark, her screams unable to drown out the thundering flames. 

When finally she dared to look again it was pitch black once more, except for the faint shape lying some distance away; the only recognizable thing on the charred body was a bracer with a templar emblem, a claw mark running down the length of it. Her breath climbed into her chest as she stared at it, her vision blurry from tears.

What was happening? The others… where had they gone? If they could hear this, see this _…_ She violently shook her head. That couldn’t happen, not ever. She curled herself up in a ball, covering her head with her arms. She had to keep control, had to stop this before they found her. She had to —

“KEEP IT IN! SHUT IT DOWN!”

“Stop it,” she whimpered against her knees. “Please… stop.”

The dark absorbed her sobs, drinking them in like a thirsty animal. There was silence, but the presence had not gone. Something was waiting, listening, thinking… 

Then, she didn’t know after how long, another voice began to speak. Deliberate and slow, forming the words as if it were talking in a tongue that was not its own. 

“So many doors… so many locks. I did not expect your mind to be this… complicated.”

She sat frozen in place, all her efforts focused on smashing down and locking away any thoughts that came to mind, lest they find a way out of her head again.

“You can’t hide from me….” the voice continued. “I am inside of you. Show me what you are.”

A sudden tremor shook the ground she was sitting on, making her look up with a start. Stairs had appeared in front of her, leading down into the depths. Another set was overhead, and another beside her. The longer she looked, the more steps materialized from the dark; criss-crossing over each other, some upside down and others sideways, going up and down and diagonally, abruptly ending into nothingness, curling in upon themselves, or leading to one of dozens of doors.

Wooden doors, metal doors, doors of solid gold, doors with locks and doors with chains. Some had bars, others stained glass panels that shimmered with ghostly light. Many were without a name or identifier, while others had signs or plates hammered onto their frames. She couldn’t read any of the messages from where she was, nor did she feel she wanted to.

“Locks to guard the locks, so many layers to seal it all away. What will let me know you?”

There was an excitement in the voice now, a gleeful anticipation dripping from every syllable. One of the doors several floors down rattled loudly, as if a phantom were trying to wring it open. Elsa had no idea what was behind the heavy slab of oak, but she was certain she did not want to see it unleashed.

Chains shot up from the corners of the massive marble frame, shooting across the dark wood and interlocking in the center. She flinched as a massive padlock pinned them in place with a hollow, echoing ‘clank’.

“You won’t keep me out!” the voice snapped. “I _will_ know you!”

“What are you?” she yelled into the labyrinth. “What do you want from me?”

There was no answer. Instead, a loud banging sounded from several flights above her. She jumped up, panic swirling in her stomach, and saw an ornate mahogany door nearly being torn out of its hinges. Unlike the previous, this one she recognized. Carved into the wood with swirly letters, was her own name.

“NO!”

In a reflex she stretched her hand towards it. Flowers of ice formed around the lock and rapidly spread across the surface. An angry hiss permeated the air as the entrance to her room froze over, with shining crystals spreading across the landing and locking the panels in their frame.

“You can’t keep it all locked away!” the voice sneered. “You’ll break soon enough!”

Another clanging, this time from further below. She stared into the pit, heart hammering and blood rushing to her head. It took only a second for instinct to take over. She bolted down the stairs in search of the source, her only thought to keep the intruder from unlocking what she’d kept hidden for so long.

Chains crawled along the walls wherever she passed, like vines taking over a castle falling into ruin. Frost spread every time her feet touched the ground, transforming the stairs behind her into an icy slide. Deeper and deeper she went, taking the steps two or three at a time. Every time she locked a door, another one began to buckle. She recognized more of them now. The heavy double doors of the dining room, a worn gate leading to the orchard, the massive entry of the Ostwick Chantry, the bookcase in the library with the hidden panel. She kept running — down, left, right, down, down — every time only barely in time to seal away the memories hidden behind them. A couple of times one was already partly open before she could slam it shut, and the further she went, the faster the next one began to cave.

Her head was swimming, her legs burning, and every breath was accompanied by a sharp thing in her side.

_I can’t keep this up._

She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, only to have another door off to her left nearly burst out of its frame as someone or something bashed against it.

“GET OUT HERE, YOU WITCH!”

Her eyes grew wide and she backed away, shaking her head in disbelief. Another slam against the door, like someone throwing their full weight against it, followed by a series of thuds as Nicolai kicked against the wood.

“Leave me alone!” she cried, sinking to the floor in terror. “You don’t want to do this!”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT I WANT!”

Nothing happened when she raised her hand. She stared at the entrance through her shaking fingers, unable to get up or move way. The stench of alcohol leaked through the splintering frame, while the wood groaned under the continued abuse. She feverishly looked for an escape from the attic, but there was none. The dusty room was empty, save for an old rocking horse that was smoldering with lingering flames, with no exit other than the door she was now trapped behind. She threw her arms over her head when it finally burst open, preparing herself for the full extent of her brother’s drunken rage. 

The hand that touched her carried no anger, but she flinched away from it nonetheless. It retracted immediately and waited; waited for her cries to quiet down, waited for her body to stop shaking, waited for her tears to run dry. When it finally reached out to her again she could hardly feel it, except for the faint warmth that briefly spread under her skin. When she opened her eyes there was no one around, and she was lying in the dark on a solid stretch of ice.

“Heavy heart that cannot heal, head ever hiding the hurt. If you keep going down, you can’t ever get back up.”

The voice that spoke to her was not like the other one. It was light, and not unfriendly, but she no longer cared. Whatever or whoever this invisible being was, it didn’t matter. She was cold, and tired. All she wanted was for this nightmare to end, and to sleep.

“Do whatever you want with me,” she said flatly. “I don’t care anymore.”

A door swung open some distance away. Horse’s hooves clicked on cobblestones, hounds barked in excitement, and the smell of fresh cakes came drifting onto the frozen patch where she was lying. The scene beyond the archway was a happy one — a tea party after a riding trip — yet listening to the cheerful sounds only filled her with an intense loneliness.

“You were not allowed to join.” 

A young man had appeared next to her, sitting cross-legged on the ice. His blond hair was mostly covered by a massive hat, and his pale eyes were fixed on the doorway. He’d stated the words as simple fact, with no discernible emotion. Hearing them spoken so plainly, without the heavy load they had when she repeated them in her mind, made Elsa look away from the door herself. She focused on the boy instead, and pushed herself up, gauging the unfamiliar presence in front of her.

“Are you what brought me here?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“You are always here. Envy was hurting you. I heard it and reached out, and then in, and then I was here too.”

She stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

“Envy is hurting you. I tried to help. Then I was here, in the hearing. It’s — it’s not usually like this.”

The boy frowned as he said the words, like he wasn’t sure what to make of them himself either. It didn’t make the situation any clearer, but his presence was faintly comforting nonetheless. He slowly rocked back and forth as he continued to think and for the first time in what felt like forever, Elsa felt like she could think herself.

Slowly the memories that had led her here came back. Therinfal Redoubt; her body moving on its own, arrow after arrow piercing flesh, penetrating metal, shattering red crystal. There had been blood too — so much blood — pooling on the ground and staining her shoes. Varric had spoken to her, but there was no space for his voice. How could there be, when she could barely hear her own? 

The foreign whisper had grown stronger, more incessant, increasingly impossible to ignore… drumming on her conscious and spreading through her mind like roots trying to grab a hold of it. Even when the onslaught of the templars had ceased, there was no silence. The voice had grown louder as it consumed more and more of her thoughts, until they’d reached the upper keep. The Lord Seeker looked down on her, metal rang against stone, and then everything went dark.

“The Lord Seeker grabbed me,” she said, more to herself than the boy.

The large hat bobbed up and down when he nodded.

“The Lord Seeker allowed Envy to wear his face. Now it wants to be you. You shouldn’t let it.”

His matter of fact tone made her laugh; it was a choked sound, without a trace of humor.

“You’re talking about a demon?” she said bitterly. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

The milky eyes blinked, once, and he cocked his head to the side. “You are fighting it, but you’re going the wrong way. You need to go up — It’s better there.”

A frozen staircase shimmered off to the side, spiraling up into the sky. There was no light to be seen, nor anything to indicate it was the way to go. Part of her knew she shouldn’t stay where she was now, but she had also remembered what was waiting for her should she leave. A shudder pulled through her spine and she closed her eyes, slowly allowing the words she’d been too scared to acknowledge form in her head.

“Everyone looks to me for help,” she whispered. “To know what to do, to close the Breach, I… I can’t. I led them here, and it’s all for nothing. Myca wasn’t there and if the Templars have fallen… what am I supposed to do?”

When she opened her eyes again, the boy had gone. She twisted around, searching, and spotted him next to the staircase. He was looking up along its length, his toes a mere fraction away from the icy surface.

Slowly she got up, feeling strangely weightless on her legs, and followed him. He didn’t acknowledge her when she came to stand next to him, but kept looking up. It made her wonder if he could see something there that she could not.

“It is a long way,” he said eventually.

The staircase stretched into nothingness above them, with no end in sight. She stared up at it, feeling the memories she’d passed before pressing down on them.

“What will happen if I go up there?”

“They will come,” he said simply. “But they can’t hurt you. Not if you don’t let them.”

“It’s not that easy,” she sighed.

He looked at her, evidently confused, but didn’t speak. Even with her parents keeping her from all magic training, she knew she should mistrust this boy as much as the other entity that had wormed itself into her mind. Yet looking at his pale face and feeling his faint aura of solicitude, she couldn’t help but trust him.

“If Envy wins, it will keep hurting. You will try to help,” he said eventually, “Sterling.”

He said the last word like a young child mimicking its parent, as if it had learned the sound, but not yet the meaning. She inhaled deeply, opening her chest and loosening her breathing. The boy stood next to her, waiting patiently, as she drew another breath, and another, rolling her neck and shoulders. When finally she felt her heart had stilled, she looked at him, and nodded.

The steps gradually defrosted as they walked up, while doors creaked open along the walls. Memories from years ago, from her earliest childhood, from her time in the Inquisition; some she remembered like they happened yesterday, other she hadn’t recalled in years. History and hallucinations became intertwined, creating visions of which she could not tell the authenticity.

Her mother standing her on a stool, pulling her corset tighter and tighter; Jon suppressing her magic, his templar powers burning her veins; laughing at someone’s joke, his hand pushing too far up her thigh; lonely days and nights in her room; whispers behind fans and layers of make-up...

Silent tears ran down her face as they climbed higher and higher. Somewhere in the distance the demon yelled and screamed as it threw more visions at them, but it no longer affected her. The boy stayed right beside her the whole time. He did not speak, did not judge; he was merely there, his silent strength carrying her through, until they finally reached the top. Smoke curled from under the final door, while the heat reached her even through the thick wood. This was the way out, she had no doubt about it. It was also the place she wanted to go the least. She took one more breath... then she stepped forward, and into the fire.


	14. Gilded Cage

“What happened to you in there?”

He didn’t look at her when he asked the question. In fact, he hadn’t looked at her since he’d sat himself down on a rock some distance away. A fresh dusting of snow had covered his shoulders since then; it was the only indication of how long they’d been sitting there in silence at the frozen lake. Now he asked her the question that she had been so desperate to avoid on their journey back. She’d grown too tired to dodge it any longer… but that didn’t make answering it any easier.

 

The concern of her companions had been evident ever since they’d left Therinfal. It hadn’t been her intention to worry them, but nor could she bring herself to ease their minds. Their anxious looks had burned on her skin, making her want to scream at them and hide at the same time. Everything that had been stirred up was still right at the surface, and for once she did not know how to bring it back down. At night she lay awake, scared of what might await her in her sleep, while during the day she tried to make herself invisible. Anything to avoid talking about what had happened… anything to keep them from asking questions.

She’d kept an eye out for the young man with the wide-brimmed hat, but she did not see him again. He’d been atop the ramparts of the keep when they rode off, his legs dangling off the edge. The strange boy had been her primary solace during their struggle against the templars, but it quickly became evident no one else could see him. He was the only one who had seen what happened, the only one who could understand. But like the journey into her mind, there seemed to be no place for him in the real world, and she soon began to wonder if he had existed at all.

Exhaustion overtook her on the third night of their travels. The dreams she’d been so fearful of were as bad as she had expected them to be; images of crazed templars, the screams of a young girl, red lyrium, demons stalking her in the shadows, and memories both old and new. She woke up several times with a start, heart racing and tears running down her face. But she was tired, so deeply drained by everything that had happened, that each time she fell asleep again almost instantly. After a few more nights her senses had dulled to the repetitive visions, as they seemed to have done to everything else. The templars, the Breach, this Elder One plotting against the Empress… Part of her knew she should care, but the rest of her couldn’t be bothered any longer. Her mind was a blank as she sat atop her horse, catching only snippets of conversation that left her mind as quickly as they entered it.

“Leliana has contacts in the lyrium trade, we should be able to secure a supply for the knights.”

_It doesn’t matter._

“I really do not like that solution. The Inquisition should not have to rely on underground trade to procure its supplies.”

“She will probably tell you that ‘underground’ trade is the only trade when it comes to lyrium.”

_Why don’t you see that it doesn’t matter?_

“Look, Sterling, the Crystal Grace has started to bloom.”

She glanced over to where Varric was pointing, but only faintly noticed the white petals among the green.

“Hawke is allergic to the stuff,” he continued. “One time some admirer gifted her a bottle of perfume made from it; took her forever to figure out why she was suddenly covered in hives. She still swears it was an assassination attempt.”

He chuckled, but quieted quickly when she didn’t respond. Instead she returned her attention to the front, though not on anything in particular. She could barely muster up the effort of holding the reins; her horse obediently followed the other ones anyway. The two warriors were still in conversation, but the words didn’t reach her.

_Nothing matters._

 

Cullen sat motionless as he waited for her to break the silence, but she didn’t even know where to begin. How was she supposed to make him understand when he knew so little to begin with?

“Envy…” she began, unsure as to where the sentence was going. “It… showed me things —”

“What things?” He spoke quickly, betraying the inner unrest masked by his calm exterior.

“Eh… ehm, memories. Visions. It… tried to trick me into revealing more about myself.”

“Yes… Demons will do that.”

She watched him from the corner of her eye, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t. Instead he took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he looked up at the sky. The Breach colored the plating of his armor a vivid green, the cloth a muted brown. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking with the unholy light washing out his features. Perhaps he was unsure as to what required enquiry first, or maybe his own experiences kept him from probing further into hers, but as long as he didn’t ask directly she felt little inclination to elaborate.

“You’re a mage,” he said eventually.

The topic was hardly an improvement over the previous. He did not seem eager to tackle it himself either; there was a weariness to the statement, as if he’d had the same conversation before. His eyes refocused on the ground between his feet, as if the answer was lying there somewhere in the snow. She averted her gaze, unwilling to see her response land.

“Yes.”

Part of her was afraid, part of her relieved. Afraid of his response, of those of the others should he tell them, and of the repercussions that would follow. Relief from finally speaking the word and ever so slightly loosening the knot in her chest. Mainly, however, she felt surprised. Somehow it seemed like the revelation of her secret should have been a more momentous occasion. After years of hiding, after the struggle and discipline it took to lock it away, it seemed disproportionate to simply be sitting here in the snow. Birds didn’t fall from the sky, the moon didn’t stop shining, and the world kept turning as it always had; everything around them — from the Breach, to the village, to the stone underneath — stayed exactly the same. She couldn’t read Cullen’s expression, but he too seemed like he should be more affected. She’d expected him to get angry, to yell, to take her into custody… something. Instead he merely nodded, not even looking up from the ground as he did.

“An apostate.”

“I… suppose so. Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why? I’m not sure —”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Oh, I see… Because I… I don’t tell anyone.”

“Right,” Cullen sighed. “I guess that is rather obvious.”

They sat in silence for a long while after. She didn’t often find herself at a loss for words, but she had no idea how to continue this particular conversation. It would be easy to let him believe she was just another noble who had used her status and coin to avoid the Circles. Or even that she was some rebel mage, undercover and silently working against the system. She could make something up, protect the parts of her history that still remained unknown, and he probably wouldn’t question it. But even though all of that was infinitely easier than telling him the truth, she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

“I’m barely a mage,” she heard herself say. “I… don’t know how to use it.”

His eyes snapped to hers in a flash. A single blink, and then he simply stared at her.

“You don’t know how to use it?” he repeated incredulously.

“No.” She cleared her throat and shifted her weight. “Just how to keep it under control.”

“Wait…” He turned towards her now, his brow in a furrow, and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Elsa took a deep breath, wishing he could just see the things she was trying to tell him. How was she ever supposed to explain this? To make him understand?

“My family would help me suppress it when I was younger. As I got older I learned to control myself, my emotions, and… and my magic with it. I never had much, just enough to…” She swallowed away the lump that had formed in her throat. “Just enough to be a danger to others.”

Cullen continued to stare at her, but she didn’t manage to hold his gaze. Instead she focused on her hands, which had been so numbed by the cold that she could hardly feel the tiny shards of the phylactery still sticking out of her palms. Any moment now she expected him to get up, turn away, and never look at her again. To wake the others and tell them their Herald was an unschooled mage. Would they lock her up again while they decided what to do with her? Make her go through a Harrowing to prove that she wasn’t a ticking bomb waiting to go off? If not for the boy in the hat she would have already failed that test…

“They helped you suppress it?”

She raised her head, momentarily confused. His expression had been difficult to read before, but that was no longer the case. The amber eyes had darkened to a hard brown, and lines showed in his cheeks from where his jaw muscles had tightened.

“Yes,” she said tentatively. “They’re templars —”

“I know they are templars,” he snapped. “I have ‘helped’ mages suppress their skills when I had to often enough; it is _never_ without harm. Are you telling me that’s the kind of skills your family used on you as a child?”

“Eh…” She blinked, taken aback by this sudden anger. Of what she had just told him, she didn’t expect him to focus on that part. “Well, yes. It was necessary.”

“Necessary?” His voice went up a note as he sprung to his feet. “It wouldn’t have been if they’d brought you to a Circle.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asked, now starting to become a little indignant herself. “Were mages treated any differently in Kirkwall? Because that might be where I would have ended up.”

“They —” He had started to pace back and forth, but halted in his tracks.

“They weren’t,” she asserted. “I had my family, I had a life. Or I was going to have a life if the world hadn’t gone mad and I hadn’t stumbled into some insane plot to destroy it. Had I been in a Circle I would either still be there now, or be an outcast in Redcliffe that no one wants anything to do with.”

“But… you can’t just ignore that you’re a mage!”

“Why not?”

His eyes were wide and disbelieving. She watched him struggle with her words for several minutes. He searched her face, and opened his mouth to speak several times. Eventually his stance relaxed and he walked back to his rock, where he sat himself down with a sigh.

“I don’t know. It just seems… wrong.” His head was angled slightly to the side as he looked her over. “It doesn’t cause problems? Not using it?”

“As opposed to using it?”

His expression didn’t light up. He continued to look at her, his face lined with concentration. She could see him searching for objections, but knew he wouldn’t find anything convincing. A green flash struck down from above and briefly brightened the night sky. In that setting anyone would find it hard to make a case for using magic, let alone either of them.

“What happens now?” she asked.

Cullen sighed deeply and glanced over to the village. “I’m not sure. This is… You may be able to ignore it, but I’m not sure I can.”

“Are you going to tell the others?”

“I suppose you don’t want me to.”

“Rather not, especially with an army of templars on the way. I imagine some of them wouldn’t be too thrilled to find out.”

“No…” he sighed. “I imagine they wouldn’t be.”

He dropped his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. The man seemed more tired than ever. They’d left at daybreak this morning, rode for half the day, and likely he had not had a break since they’d returned.

“I’m sorry, Cullen,” she said quietly. “I never intended to burden you with this.”

“Were you just never going to tell me?”

The anger had left his voice, but she had preferred it before... With its tone softened, his hurt was as evident as the Breach above their heads.

“I… don’t know. I just… don’t want you to think ill of me.”

A humorless laugh left him, scarce more than a breath. 

“Think ill of you?” he said so quietly she could barely hear him. He took a deep breath and shook his head, before lifting it to look her in the eye. “What do you plan to do now?”

“… What do you mean?”

“You haven’t spoken in days, have completely cut yourself off from everyone around you. You put the templars in my care, though I do not understand why. And now we’re here. Our people follow you, but you seem to have turned your back on them. Are you giving up?”

She had seen the look he gave her before, but it had not come from him. It had been Cassandra’s, holding out her bow to her after she’d escaped Envy’s clutches. The dark eyes had left no room for misinterpretation; quitting was not an option. Elsa had wanted to smack the weapon from her hand, walk from the keep, and never look back, but as she kept looking into the Seeker’s face she had begun to see something more. She wasn’t able to identify it any better now than she had been then, but one thing was clear; there was only one acceptable answer to his question.

“No…” she sighed. “No, I’m not giving up.”

They continued to look at each other a while longer, but neither of them spoke. Eventually he dropped his gaze when she failed to suppress a shiver, and got to his feet.

“Come,” he said, holding out his hand, “You’ll freeze if we stay here.” She hesitated a moment, but then allowed him to pull her up. He quickly took her other hand as well and turned both over to inspect her palms. “We should take the glass out,” he stated, “but I think you’ll be fine without a healer.”

He let go of her hands and began to walk back towards the camp. She followed, pulling his cloak closer around her while she kept her eyes fixed on the back of his head. Their conversation seemed to have ended, and a small panic began to stir in her chest as they drew closer to the village. It seemed like there was so much else that still needed to be said, but she couldn’t find the words to say it. She had no idea what his opinion was of her now, but she had never felt further removed from him. If this was how they left it, if this was how they would each end the night… she didn’t know how to recover from that, but neither did she have a clue of how to fix it before that would come to pass.

The entire way, even up to when they walked through the gate and turned towards her cottage, she anxiously searched her brain for something to say, but she swallowed back down whatever came to mind. Nothing she could say would change the reality of the situation; not the parts that he now knew, nor the rest of it. She couldn’t even blame him if he wanted nothing to do with her anymore, and she certainly did not want to make things harder for him than they already were.

To her surprise he didn’t stop at her door, like he had done in the past. Instead he held it open for her and then stepped inside himself.

“Sit down.”

She obeyed the order and sat down on the edge of the bed, while he piled some wood into the fireplace and bent down to light it. Soon the room was bathed in warmth, and it was only then that she noticed how cold she’d gotten. Her hands were shaking when Cullen pulled off his gloves and took hers in his own once again.

“I can do it myself,” she said quietly. “You should get some rest.”

He ignored her, and instead continued to focus on removing the remaining glass. In the warmth of the fire her senses slowly returned, making her wince slightly as he pulled the shards from the cuts. Whenever she did, he paused for a moment, glanced up at her, and waited for her signal before he continued. His hands were warm, much more so then hers, and surprisingly soft. As he continued to work, gently moving her hand between his own to check it from every angle, she felt her eyes beginning to water.

“Why did you dig it up?” he asked, not looking up from her hands. “Why tonight?”

“I, ehm…” she croaked, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “I don’t even know. It’s… all such a mess. Seeing the templars like that. They have been a part of my life for so long… When I was growing up they always seemed larger than life.”

“Defenders of the faithful,” Cullen added. A wry smile formed on his lips, tugging on his scar. “Yeah… I know what you mean.”

“Right,” she sniffed. “They’re supposed to know better… to protect those who can’t protect themselves. I —”

The rest of the words got caught in her throat. She dropped her head, and violently swallowed against the strangling lump. Cullen had finished attending her hands, but didn’t let go of them yet. Instead he simply held them, patiently waiting for her to regain her composure.

“You trusted them,” he finished for her.

She nodded. It was all she could muster in between catching her breath and fighting down the tears.

“Even when they hurt you?”

“It… was necessary.”

Cullen remained quiet after that, and she focused on bringing her body back under control. She tried her usual techniques, though they were not even half as effective as they usually were. What helped her most in the end were his hands, which were still enveloping her own, and the warmth that came from them. Even though she was no longer freezing, her hands felt colder than ever when he finally let them go and leaned back in his chair.

“Leliana once told me that you had a sister.”

Though she’d been expecting them for some time, the words still hit her like a punch to the stomach. The old pain had lain dormant for years, only surfacing occasionally when someone had accidentally mentioned her name. Only a week ago it had returned with renewed vengeance when Envy had forced her to relive that fateful moment; now it hurt more than on the day it had first materialized.

“I did,” she whispered. “She… she died.”

He nodded slowly and looked away. “…An accident?”

“Yes…”

The visions came rushing back up once again, like they had done so often since the demon had violated her mind. She shut her eyes in a reflex to block them out. Roaring flames, high-pitched screams, a smoldering rocking-horse —

She jumped a little when Cullen’s hand suddenly touched the side of her face. It stroked back the hair that had fallen over her shoulder, before following the line of her jaw. Then he lifted her head with the edge of his finger, and took hold of her chin.

“Listen to me.” There was an intention in the amber eyes that made it impossible to look away. “We need to tell the rest of the leadership. If you won’t, then I’m telling you now that I will. We need to know if this affects our plan to close the Breach, but even if it doesn’t…” The creases in his forehead deepened, and he shook his head a fraction. “You can’t keep doing this. Trust me.”

He let go of her face and got up from his chair. Before she’d registered what was happening, he’d already crossed the cabin and was opening the door.

“Cullen!”

His hand paused on the handle, and he turned around. She’d launched herself to her feet and stood frozen in the middle of the room. She didn’t want him to leave, but there was no doubting the look on his face; He didn’t want to stay.

“What?”

“I —“ she stuttered. “I just want to say… The reason I put the templars in your charge. We still need them, but you’re the only one in whose hands I trust them to be. You… are truly the most decent man I have ever met.”

He looked at her for a while, but his expression was unreadable once more. “Thank you,” he said eventually with a small inclination of his head. “Try to get some rest. I will call an early meeting tomorrow.”

The door closed behind him with a soft thud. She stood alone, shivering in the cold that had slivered in through the brief opening. Tomorrow morning she would have to tell the others. She’d only barely managed to tell just one person, and he wanted nothing more than to be out of her sight. Her limbs felt stiff as she made her way back to the bed and climbed under the covers without changing out of her clothes.

There was no way to prepare for the meeting awaiting her, of that she was certain. So instead she just closed her eyes and let her tears flow freely, until she finally fell asleep with the red cloak still wrapped around her.


	15. Personal Opinion

A sharp knock on the door woke her the next morning. She sat bolt upright, her hair in disarray and half sticking to her face. It was barely light outside, though that didn’t mean much in the mountains. She pushed her grey tangles back, wondering what time it was, when the door opened a fraction.

“Sterling? Are you decent?”

The answer she managed to produce was little more than a frog-like choking sound. When she next launched into a small coughing fit, Varric carefully stuck his head around the door.

“You alright there?”

She held up her hand in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture, which didn’t prove itself to be very effective. Once he saw she was dressed, he stepped inside the cabin and came towards her with his brow in a furrow, poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she croaked. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” he asked, grabbing the chair that Cullen had occupied only a few hours ago and sitting himself down on it. “You look like shit.”

“Flatterer.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. Your version of ‘shit’ is still better than most,” he smiled mischievously. “Just a bit less ‘herald-y’.”

She drank the last sip of water and stared into the empty glass. The smile slowly vanished from Varric’s face. He clasped his hands together between his knees and seemed to be carefully considering his next words, until his eye fell on something on the floor.

“Is that Curly’s shoulder fluff?”

Color rushed to her face when he pulled the red cloak up from the floor. It must have slipped off the bed when she startled awake; every time she’d woken up that night she had been clutching it with both hands.

“No! Ehm… I mean, yes, it is. But… it’s not -”

The smile was back, and this time without any reservation. “Sterling, Sterling,” he said teasingly. “You surprise me.”

“It’s not like that!” He held the cloak out of her reach for a bit while she tried to grab it, but then allowed her to snatch it from his hand. “Nothing happened,” she muttered, spreading the fur across her lap and smoothening out the hairs with her hand.

“Yes… With you being alone, fully dressed, and with your face all in a puff, that’s what I figured,” he said casually. “But I’m glad you’re talking to me again.”

His smile was sympathetic as he looked her over. Would it still be that way, she wondered, after today was over? The thought made her stomach turn, as it had been doing throughout the night.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t personal.”

“That’s okay, Sterling, there was a lot going on. I just want to know that you’re okay.”

“Thank you… I-” She paused, and caught herself. “I’m… not okay. There’s… There’s something I haven’t been honest about. And today I have to tell the others.”

“… Oh.”

He’d raised his eyebrows and blinked in surprise. Then he moved his chair a little closer to the bed, turning his back towards the exit as if he were trying to block her next words from accidentally escaping the cabin. She would have smiled, had her stomach not begun to summersault inside her body.

“I suppose the red bear pelt in your cabin means that Curly is making you tell this something to the others?” he asked. “Is it something you told him?”

“He… found out about it. I went out to the woods last night, he was there. I… I just didn’t care anymore, after everything that happened.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” he sighed. “It was a messed up situation. You did good though, despite all that. It’s a victory, even if it doesn’t feel like one right now.”

Elsa nodded, though she couldn’t imagine anything that might ever make the events at Therinfal feel like a victory.

“So… do you want to tell me the thing?” he continued, leaning in slightly to look at her face. “I know it helps you to practice difficult conversations.”

She smiled briefly at the teasing spark in his eye, and nodded. They sat there for a while, Varric waiting expectantly and her wondering if she was going to throw up, until she simply blurted out the words she had so often looped in her head but had never spoken out loud.

“I’m a mage.”

There was a long moment of silence in which noises from outside told them of the slow awakening of the camp. Distant footsteps crossed the path to and from the gate, while the gong rang outside the walls to signal breakfast for the soldiers.

Varric continued to stare at her, as if waiting for the punchline to a joke. When it became clear she wasn’t going to follow up her revelation with a ‘Gotcha!’, or something to that effect, he straightened himself up and leaned back in his chair.

“Oh… Alright.”

She blinked. “… Alright?”

“I’m sorry,” he shrugged, “Do you want me to be more shocked? You’ve read my _Tale of the Champion_ , right?”

“I have…” Elsa looked him over with raised eyebrow, but there didn’t seem to be anything dishonest about his unconcerned appearance. “So… you’re not surprised?”

He let out a hearty laugh at her confusion. “A little, sure. But it’s not like you’ve suddenly sprouted horns and wings and proclaimed yourself to be an archdemon. Now _that_ would have been a surprise!”

“Right…” Her stomach slowly came to a halt, and she leaned back in her pillow. “There are stranger things, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, brushing the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. “Like falling out of the Fade and being blessed by Andraste. I’d love to see the looks on the clerics’ faces when they hear the infamous Herald is a mage though. Hah, that’d be priceless!”

“People can’t know,” she hissed, glancing at the door. “I mean… Cullen will tell Cassandra and the others if I don’t… but no one else can know.”

“Why not?”

“Because! There are… things that are expected of me. I have no real talent, I can’t use it. It would just ruin every chance I have at a normal life if people knew.”

His laughter had vanished quickly. Now he just frowned at her, his usual cheer replaced with concern.

“Sterling,” he began carefully, “what do you think is going to happen exactly, after you close the Breach?”

“I…”

She stopped and thought. _I will go back to Ostwick._ That’s what she had begun to say… It’s what she had been assuming, it’s what had seemed like the only real possibility. She was going to go back, like she was expected to, brave her mother’s ire, and probably be placed under house arrest for several months until the next social event too important for her to miss.

“I hate to break it to you, Sterling,” Varric continued, “but to the world you are the Herald of Andraste. Mage or not, a ‘normal’ life doesn’t seem to be much of an option anymore.”

She stared at him in disbelief; not at what he had said, but rather at how she hadn’t realized it herself before.

 

* * *

 

The responses of the others ranged somewhere between those of Cullen and Varric. For Leliana it seemed like the last piece of a puzzle satisfyingly snapped into place, and Elsa even thought she saw a fleeting smile pull across the spymaster’s face. Josephine, though initially letting out a small gasp of shock, displayed the most understanding of her family’s decision to hide her away. Cassandra in turn showed a surprising amount of concern, though Elsa couldn’t tell if it was for her benefit, or that of everyone else. She asked question after question about what sort of training she had received, how she had learned to fend off demons, and what kinds of magic she could do. It took at least half an hour of answering her interrogation before she seemed convinced of the fact that she had never performed, nor was capable of casting even the simplest spell, and that she had merely learned how to close her mind against spirits.

“Did you know about this?” the Seeker eventually asked Solas, who had been standing quietly in the corner.

Cullen had invited him to the meeting, he’d told the group, to get his opinion on whether their plans to close the Breach would be affected. The Elf hadn’t said a word since they'd walked in, but merely observed her from across the table. He of all people in the room seemed most upset with her, which was surprising. It was hard to tell whether it was because of her secret, however, or her decisions at Therinfal.

“I did not,” he said, with a sharp edge to his tone that she wasn’t sure anyone else heard. “If she is indeed as talentless as she says, it is to be expected that the magic of the mark masked her own.”

“Will this change anything?” Cullen asked impatiently. It was clearly the question he’d been most anxious to get to.

“I do not see why it should,” Solas finally drew his icy stare away from her to look at the others. “She has not become possessed in the presence of the Breach so far. Other than that being a possible risk, there is no reason to believe the mark won’t work the way we expect it to.”

He took his leave after that, not casting her another glance. Elsa waited anxiously as the door swung closed behind him. No one spoke for some time, and she was too scared to look anyone in the eye. More than anything she wanted to be out of the room and hide; she had never felt so exposed in her entire life.

It was Josephine who broke the silence, her voice a little unsure, but clearly with the intent to put the whole affair behind them.

“Well, to get on with current matters,” she said cheerfully, “I have received word from my contacts in Orlais. Those clerics with a positive disposition towards the Inquisition have been very vocal and are winning over those in doubt. That, and word that we have secured an alliance with the templars, will surely help our standing in Thedas.”

“The templars should be held accountable for their actions,” Cassandra said angrily. “Demons, red lyrium, corruption… they should be ashamed.”

This comment drew out Cullen, who had been largely quiet throughout the meeting, and for a while the discussion was just like it had been during most of the other meetings; heated and a little disorganized. Leliana expressed her dismay over allowing the templars to keep their own power, while Josephine tried to frame the situation in the most positive way possible.

Elsa watched without participating, wondering if this was really the extent of the discussion when it came to her situation. It seemed to be, and she found herself silently wondering at how - contrary to what she had been led to believe - her life’s secret was actually rather insignificant to the rest of the world.

At some point the discussion came to a close - with all parties seemingly a little dissatisfied, but willing to make the most of it - and the meeting was adjourned. Elsa was almost out the door already, eager to hide herself away for the rest of the day, when a shriek came from behind. Swords were drawn and pointed at a figure that had materialized on the table, his feet firmly planted on the border between Ferelden and Orlais.

“Wait!” she called out, quickly throwing herself forward to step between Cassandra’s blade and the boy with the hat. “Don’t harm him.”

“You know this boy?” Leliana asked, eyeing the young man with curiosity.

“He helped me at Therinfal,” she explained quickly. “Without him, I wouldn’t have escaped Envy.”

Cullen and Cassandra exchanged a glance, but Elsa missed it. Instead, her attention was fixed on the boy, who looked at her with misty eyes.

“My name is Cole,” he said. “I followed you here. I want to help.”

Another heated discussion broke out, but all Elsa did was look at the mysterious boy. He was exactly as she remembered… and he was real. It was both comforting and frightening at the same time. On the one hand, his being here was proof that Envy hadn’t just been a terrible dream, something which she had tried to convince herself of. On the other hand, his presence radiated the same comforting feeling as it had when she had been trapped in her own mind. With how she had been feeling over the past week, she welcomed that feeling with open arms.

Eventually he was allowed to stay. It was decided that he should be kept under close watch, which proved itself difficult immediately as he vanished from the room without a trace.

Elsa hesitated as the others collected their papers and made their way out of the room, unsure of whether she should say or do something specific. Josephine’s hand lightly touched her on the arm as she walked by, while Leliana gave her a small, but friendly, smile. Cassandra paused in front of her, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” Elsa said, suddenly feeling very small next to the tall Seeker. “I never intended to put the Inquisition at risk.”

“I believe that,” the Seeker replied. Her expression softened, and she raised her hand to place it onto Elsa’s shoulder. “Just give everyone some time to process it,” she said quietly, leaning in slightly, “if they need it.”

Her strong fingers briefly closed around her shoulder. Then she swiftly turned and left the room.

Elsa cast a last glance across the table. Cullen hadn’t left and was still scouring the map, despite there being very little there to scrutinize with such attention. She hesitated, but then left the room as well, hoping the Seeker was right in her advice.


	16. Preparations

In the following days there was little time to reflect on the meeting, or its consequences. It had been decided that there was no need for her history to become public knowledge, especially with the impending arrival of the templars. So Elsa’s duties simply continued like they had done before the circus of royals had showed up on their doorstep, and she found herself busier than ever with the increase in reputation that their alliance with the Order had brought. Refugees and pilgrims continued to come in from all over southern Thedas. In addition to that, an increasing amount of local nobility showed up to witness the upcoming closing of the Breach. One night, after a long day of leading prayer sessions and showing guests around, she joked to Varric that the Inquisition should consider selling tickets to the event. From the way he was writing numbers in his notebook later on, however, she wasn’t so sure he’d taken it quite the way that she’d meant.

It was only in these small moments - when she would end the day sitting by the fire while the dwarf scribbled his notes - that she could think about her situation. Although she had been sure that anyone finding out the truth about her would have severely damaged their image of the Herald, she could no longer convince herself that this was the case. Tempting fate in openly telling the templars was indeed a step too far, but as for their people… She had imagined them turning on her in her dreams, their friendly expressions melting away and making place for scorn and distrust as they pointed at her and whispered behind her back. That thought had not gone, but the underwhelming response she had received so far had rather deflated it. Surprisingly it was Sera who unknowingly contributed to this the most.

“Templars are on the way, yeah?” she asked, readying a shot on her bow. She’d been quick to join Elsa when the latter took a break from her regular work to practice her archery.

“They’ll be here in a few days.” Elsa watched her vault backwards as she let the arrow fly and wondered if she’d ever be able to move in that way. “Does that worry you?”

“Not the funnest bunch,” the elf scoffed, “but they better march their asses over here quickly. The faster _that_ thing is closed…” She made a face at the Breach. “… and everything can go back to normal, the better.”

“It probably won’t be that simple for things to go back to normal.”

“Just as long as the templars and mages stop being stupid,” Sera shrugged. “You know, I don’t hear anything about mages, until one of them goes bonkers. And I don’t hear anything about templars until one of them goes bonkers either. If they all just stop being assholes, everything’s fine, innit?”

“You… don’t care about them, as long as they don’t bother anyone else?” Elsa asked her.

“Nope, think most people don’t. I have to think about a bunch of stuff already. Why add more shit that has nothing to do with me?”

This indeed seemed to be true of the people that now knew, none of whom treated her much differently. Josephine was as bright and courteous as ever when Elsa dropped by her office, despite her desk nearly caving under the mountain of paperwork surrounding her. Since their surge in popularity, the ambassador’s workload had easily tripled. Leliana in turn seemed to take her as another example of how the unfair treatment of mages forced them into hiding. Though Elsa was not necessarily of the same opinion, she decided not to argue the point, as the spymaster still seemed a little sore about their deal with the templars. Cassandra was perhaps the most different, in the sense that she seemed to watch her a little more carefully - especially when she would be talking to Cole. The Seeker was the same in every other respect, however, and even Solas seemed to be coming around a bit once Varric asked him to share more of his stories with them.

Cullen had, unsurprisingly, the hardest time adjusting. He did not attend mass, nor talk much with her at all, but the reason seemed to be the frenzy he was in to prepare accommodation for an army of templars rather than out of a wish to avoid her. It only took a few meetings for him to make eye contact with her again, and just another few before they would make short, but polite conversation. It was far from whatever had been growing between them before Therinfal, but it was much better than anything she’d ever pictured. Had anyone told her that things would turn out like this some weeks ago, she would have been happy, relieved, ecstatic even…

_But I’m not._

She wasn’t ecstatic, relieved, or happy. Nor was she sad, worried, doubtful, angry or any of the other emotions that might be appropriate in her situation. She continued to work, continued to smile, continued to show sympathy where it was wanted, and strength where it was required. She couldn’t call herself unhappy… she just couldn’t call herself much of anything at all.

How could she not have seen that everything was already different? That _she_ was different? Her path had been laid out for so long, and her mother’s letter had been a very clear reminder of what that path was. Even before the templars had shown how flawed they really were, what had she imagined? That she’d go back home, glowing hand and all, and get married to some lord or another like it had always been planned? That she could just step back into her old life and pick up where she’d left off? And now that the Chantry had collapsed, and the templars strayed so far from what she had believed them to be, what was even left of her old life to go back to? That life in which she had spent so much energy hiding something away that most people didn’t even care about?

… What was left of her?

These were the questions that came to her in those scarce moments of quiet in the days leading up to when the Herald would try to close the hole in the sky. They were the types of questions that would frighten most people, the types that showed just how fragile their beliefs and very existence really were. Elsa would have been afraid herself… had she still been able to.

 

* * *

 

_It’s not going to fit._

Cullen stared at the map before him - a crude, but accurate depiction of Haven and its surroundings. He’d been sketching lines, only to erase them again, and shoving around markers for what felt like hours now. Somehow he felt like it should be possible, but the longer he stood there the clearer it became. There was no way hundreds of templars were going to fit in their existing camp.

For the veterans currently on their way they could double up in the existing tents, and take down some of the trees to make room for more. Perhaps they could spill out onto the frozen lake, although despite the thickness of the ice he preferred not to take the risk of their new allies waking up from a bath of ice water.

There was a lot more for him to do - reports to read, training schedules to prepare, and supplies to be distributed, to name a few - but he had trouble bringing himself to do any of those things. By now he almost took the puzzle before him as a personal challenge, and he was determined to find a solution. Even if it was only because it kept certain other thoughts at bay… Though not very well.

 

Though the sky had not been green, and the weather in Kirkwall far milder than in the Frostbacks, there was one similarity between the night he’d recently experienced with Elsa and one years ago with Hawke that was impossible to ignore. She had returned from the Deep Roads only a few months prior, and had just taken residence in her mother’s estate in Hightown. Despite her now being a key figure in the city, she still spent much of her time in the back alleys of Lowtown, and seemingly most of her evenings in the Hanged Man. They'd crossed paths on the rare occasion that he joined some of the other templars for a drink, and ended up sharing one themselves on a few of them. While she mercilessly teased and flirted with him during the day, in these times she'd let go of that attitude almost completely. They’d talk of nothing he could still recall now, but there had been a certain comfort and familiarity in being with her; one that he hadn’t found with any of his colleagues or other acquaintances.

She would walk with him to the docks on those nights, bid him goodnight, and he’d watch her until she’d disappeared from view in the direction of Hightown. He did so on this particular night, before turning away to board the next boat heading to the Gallows. Just as he was about to get in, a deafening _bang_ sharply drew his attention back around. 

The ground shook under his boots as he sprinted towards the corner where she had just disappeared, and where the scuffle of a fight could now clearly be heard. He knew she could fight, but she had been drinking and, from what he could tell, she was unarmed. His hand reached for the dagger he kept strapped to his belt, while he cursed himself for not having his sword. He rushed through the streets and rounded another corner, only to stop dead in his tracks.

The fire had died out, leaving nothing but smoldering heaps of what had been her assailants. Hawke stood in the middle of the alleyway, her body tense and mana still coalescing around her hands as she listened carefully for other attackers. She spun around when she heard him approach, the flames in her palms briefly flashing brighter, until she recognized him. Shock registered on her face for a moment; then she straightened up and the lights died out.

“Knight-Captain… I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

His grip on the dagger tightened instinctively, while he fought the constriction in his throat.

“You’re a… You’re a mage.”

“I am.” Her tone was casual, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than what she had for supper that evening. “Rather a good one too, if I do say so myself.”

“An apostate.”

“Obviously.” She came towards him, bringing her features slowly into better view. Her eyebrows went up slightly as she halted several paces away, and looked at the dagger. “Is that necessary?”

He hesitated a moment, then retreated a step and stored the dagger back in its sheath. She smiled, and looked him over with her head angled slightly to the side.

“So… what happens now?”

“I should bring you in,” he said thoughtfully.

“You really want to try that?” Her smile broadened, giving him the answer. _You really don’t._

He continued to look at her, wondering what the best course of action was. She had done no harm before that he could tell, had even helped the templars on occasion. But even so…

“Tell you what, Knight-Captain,” she continued airily. “I can do a whole lot more for you out here than I can in your little prison. You pretend you don’t know about me, I stay out of your way and don’t burn down the Circle. And if you have the odd job your templars can’t deal with, I am of course always willing to lend a hand.”

His stomach stirred uneasily. It made sense, though he was reluctant to admit it. More so, he noticed how much he preferred her solution to the idea of her being locked up with the other mages. Though Meredith insisted her methods were necessary, he wouldn’t wish to see Hawke treated in such a way. If Meredith knew, however…

“You need to keep a low profile,” he told her. “I can’t protect you if others find out.”

“Of course,” she smirked. “It’s my specialty.”

“... Somehow I doubt that.”

Her laugh was bright, and in stark contrast with the lumpy shapes that were evidence of her power still lying behind her in the alley.

“I think I’d better go,” she said eventually, clasping her hands behind her back, “Thank you, Knight-Captain, for your discretion.”

She spun round and weaved her way between the bodies, snatching what sounded like a jingling coin purse from one of them in passing. She turned when she reached the next corner, and a flame erupted in her palm to light her face in the dark.

“Probably best we’re not seen socializing anymore.” Her smile had softened; it was no longer teasing… if he didn’t know better, he would have thought it wistful. “Stay safe, Cullen.”

She was gone before he could reply, and he wouldn’t see that same expression again.

 

How different had Elsa’s response been to that same remark. She had averted her eyes, even closed them as she confessed. Where Hawke had been so casual, proud even, the Herald had seemed pained to her core to even acknowledge what she was.

_I don’t want you to think ill of me._

Was that the impression he gave? That he disliked mages by default? It felt unfair, given the fact that he had worked well with mages in the past, Hawke being the clearest example. Then again, could he really blame Elsa for thinking he did, with the things she knew about him? It was this that made him realize how little she knew him… and how little he knew about her.

It was a frightening thought, a mage that never learned how to use her power, had not gone through a Harrowing or the proper training. Then again… as long as she had learned to resist the temptations of demons, was there real danger?

There had been mages in the Circle that had shown little talent for spells. Those would either fail their Harrowing - which meant their death or Tranquility - or they would dedicate themselves to research and rituals instead. Had Elsa been in a Circle, which one would she be? One thing was clear; whichever one it was, she wouldn’t have been with them now.

He didn’t want her to feel bad, to think he feared her or, worse, disliked her. But where they had finally managed to get to a place of comfort before, everything that had happened in such a short amount of time had launched him right back to the start where he found himself grasping for a topic whenever they happened to meet.

So instead he focused on the puzzle before him. He almost convinced himself that if he solved this, his other issues would be solved as well, or at least it would give him something to talk about with Elsa. He paused momentarily, imagining a conversation in which he told her how he’d managed to fit an army into their tiny camp while she prepared to close the world-threatening tear in the Veil. He closed his eyes and groaned at how pathetic that sounded, before continuing to move markers and count beds until the evening fell.

 

* * *

 

“What will you wear, my dear?”

“Wear?”

“Yes, darling,” Vivienne chimed, as she inspected the various dresses in Elsa’s cupboard. “This is a momentous occasion, you must look your best. Artists will immortalize this moment in paint and sculpture in years to come, you can’t have them depict you in any old thing.”

“Right,” Elsa replied dully. “I… don’t really know. What does one typically wear when one closes the sky?”

“White is always good,” the mage mused, either oblivious to her tone or ignoring it on purpose, “I would suggest the outfit you wore to meet the temp-”

“No. Not that one.”

Vivienne looked up, pursing her lips slightly before continuing to rifle through her clothes.

“It was a bit of a mess afterwards. It’d probably take more time to clean than to have something new made from scratch. Oh, how about this?”

Elsa barely registered the combination she had pulled out of the cupboard, but nodded. Pleased, Vivienne laid the outfit out over the back of a chair, before moving behind her to do her hair. Elsa let her eyes fall closed as the mage’s sharp nails raked through the silvery strands and deftly worked them into an elegant, braided side-bun.

The templars had arrived in camp the previous evening, where Elsa had gone to receive them with the rest of the Inquisition’s leadership. The Chantry had been fuller than ever that night, with people having to stand at the edges of the room to all fit into the hall and attend the service. The templars had received their philter as well, a ritual that had extended the usual length of the ceremony by another hour. Then there were the additional songs and prayers in preparation for what they would attempt to do the next day. It had been well past midnight before she had been able to leave and get some sleep.

 _Ironic_ , she thought, _how preparing for closing the Breach has made me more tired than ever for actually closing the Breach._

So she sat on the edge of her bed while the mage worked around her, drifting in and out of conscious thought. She tried to imagine what it was going to be like this evening, but found that she couldn’t. The first attempt at closing the rift had been painful, but since then she had used the mark more often. It didn’t hurt to close the smaller ones, though the feeling wasn’t comfortable either. It was not unlike the tingly sensation she got from Vivienne working on her hair right now, except sharper, and a hundred times more intense. The Breach would be weaker tonight with the templars’ influence, though of course still far larger than any of the other rifts she’d encountered. Would the mark jump forward again, as if working on its own? Would she lose consciousness and wake up three days later, like she had last time? Or… was she not going to wake up anymore at all?

_Would that be so terrible?_


	17. High-button Shoes

The sun had almost sunk behind the mountains, coloring the sky a deep red as it made way for a pitch-black night. Elsa stood in front of the mirror, observing the result of Vivienne's efforts. Her hair was shiny in the fading light, asymmetrically braided with loose strands hanging down the sides of her face. It brought out her cheekbones and the line of her jaw, both even more pronounced now than before she had left home. Her eyes were lined with a black wing, emphasizing their almond shape, and her lips sparkled with a light gloss. The outfit Madame de Fer had picked — a light armor with high boots and a white and silver coat that nearly reached to the ground — was equally well chosen, and focused the attention on all her best features. Even Elsa herself could see that she looked beautiful, and that it was how the world would see her too.

_Like the main course of a banquet... decorated and ready to be carved._

Soldiers and civilians lined the path as she exited her cabin, much like they'd done when she had awoken there the first time. She held her head high, her back straight, and walked between the masses as if in a dream. This time she didn't turn towards the Chantry, but exited the gate instead, where a small legion of templars stood lined up in anticipation. The others were there too; Cassandra, Leliana, Solas, and Cullen, seated on top of their mounts, while Josephine stood next to Mother Giselle among the Inquisition's followers.

Varric came towards her from the stables, reins of his pony in one hand and those of her destrier in the other. He paused a moment before handing them to her, and seemed about to speak. His mouth opened slightly, before closing again, though in the end he managed little more than an audible sigh and a shake of his head.

"Thank you, my friend," she said quietly as he handed her the reins. Her voice was restrained, her accent masked. It was all she could manage right now, but she hoped he didn't doubt the sentiment.

"Ah, just go close that thing already," he said gruffly, scratching the back of his head. "So you can change out of that thing and we can get drunk."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, waiting for the faint flush of color to rush to his cheeks. He made a face at her and turned away, muttering, and began to climb his pony.

Elsa mounted her own horse, with assistance from Dennet, and took up the reins. The great bay shuffled under her, slightly unnerved by the unusual circumstances, but quieted as she put her hand on his neck. She turned him in a circle, passing the people who were now blocking the way back into the village and round past the templars, who slammed their fists into their chests in salute. Then she joined the others, each of whom's expression was a different mix of solemn concern.

They began their journey, the sounds of prayers behind them softly dying down, while several dozen of heavily armored footsteps echoed against the mountain. Through the valley they followed the path, crossing the bridges and eventually turning onto the winding trail that led up the mountain. It was a far shorter distance than she remembered it to be, though it still took them a good half an hour. By the time they reached the temple the sun had truly gone, allowing the green glow of the hissing chasm above their heads to overtake the scenery.

They left their horses outside the ruin, where they nervously pulled on the ropes keeping them in place, while they continued to make their way inside. The templars followed Cullen's and Cassandra's commands as they reach the inner chamber, swiftly lining up along the walls in perfect formation. Elsa followed Solas down, until they halted in the very spot that the Pride Demon had materialized from months ago.

"Are you ready, Herald?"

The elf didn't look at her, but kept his gaze focused on the Breach. She followed his example, squinting momentarily against the brightness, before she forced herself to look straight at it.

"Yes."

A slight crinkle formed in his forehead as he raised his eyebrows. "You sound very certain."

"This is my purpose right now, isn't it?" she mumbled. "If I can't be certain of that, what else is there?"

He considered her a moment, but did not speak. Cassandra appeared besides them, her face flushed and sharp brows drawn into a tense frown. 

"The templars are in position," she stated. "Are you ready?"

Elsa drew a long breath, then nodded.

"Just like with the other rifts," Solas told her. "Wait until you feel the templars' power assert itself."

They both turned away, leaving Elsa alone underneath the swirling torrent. She looked behind her, letting her eyes drift over the armored men and women, their skin almost aglow with lyrium. She could see Varric's shape behind them, though she couldn't make out his features in the dark. Leliana stood perched like one of her ravens on a high rock some distance away from him, overlooking the scene below. Solas' voice rang through the crater, while Cassandra pulled her sword from her belt, triggering a chain reaction among the templars to do the same.

The last person she found in the crowd was Cullen. He stood with the templars, jaw set and hand clenched around the pommel of his own weapon. His cuirass rose with his chest when their eyes met, and he inclined his head to her. Then he unsheathed his own sword, and planted it in the ground as he knelt like the others had. She didn't know if he could still contribute, having been without lyrium for as long as he had, but the fact that he was willing to try said enough.

She turned back towards the Breach, the mark on her hand prickling her nerves. The dispelling waves of the templars began to flow, rolling across the ground and pressing down on her like a blanket. She struggled against the draining sensation, inhaling deeply against the thick air to suck in what little oxygen remained. With all her might she fought to keep her focus on the Breach, which groaned and stirred above her. The torrent stilled, the edges quivered, and, slowly, the hole in the sky began to shrink.

Her hand shot up, causing lightning to strike from her palm and rapidly connect to its target. For a moment she couldn't see, her sight blinded by the combination of green flashes and holy light. Her veins were on fire, her insides ice from the templars' smite. She grabbed on to her shaking arm, her heart racing and her knees buckling, and then, just as quickly as it had begun... everything stopped.

She sat on the ground, her ears ringing so loud she did not hear the silence that had fallen over the ruin. One person began to clap, then another, and within seconds everyone was applauding, yelling, and cheering. Footsteps came closer, hands touched her shoulders, and pulled her up by her arms. Her chest was nearly crushed by a breast plate as she got pulled into a strangling hug; congratulations were spoken in a gentle voice; a broad hand with short fingers briefly took hers, and squeezed.

More cheers and applause sounded upon their return, and a party broke out in the grounds without delay. Casks were busted upon, mugs were filled, and music drifted through the air. Elsa watched drinks flow and being spilled, nobles giggling with reddened faces, templars toasting with sisters, and Sera dancing wildly atop a table. Beyond all that, the sky was black, and stars were visible for the first time since the Conclave.

_I guess we did it._

Slowly her senses returned, awakening to the scene surrounding her. The smell of roasted pork and beer. The conflicting tones of a lute on one side of the village, and a flute on the other. The cool breeze that made her cheeks flush and stirred the hairs of the small fur lining her shoulders. There was laughter, song, and hope all around.

She drew a deep breath, and sighed.

_Now what?_


	18. All Cats Are Grey At Night

The Inquisition's banner fluttered triumphantly in the breeze; the eye with flaming sword no longer tinted green, but a bright gold in the light of the many campfires. Elsa watched it dance against the night sky, sparkling like a jewel.

Someone knocked against her elbow, making the drink she was holding spill over the side. It missed her dress, but she put the mug down to be sure. She had no appetite for the beverage anyway.

Varric had not let a moment go to waste to put his plan of getting drunk into action. He was several pints ahead of some of the other people around, which was still many more than she'd had. He told story after story, though it became increasingly hard to follow the plot in some of them. It was all to great delight of the crowd surrounding him, but although Elsa laughed along with them as well, she had never felt so distant from the people around her.

She waited until he was immersed in another tale, acting out an old Chantry Mother walking in on a templar in a rather compromising position, when she got up and snuck away. Though she had been constantly held up by people wishing to talk to her at the start of the evening, everyone now seemed too engrossed in the party to care much for the Herald. When she made for her cabin, however, she found it overrun with people who had decided to take the party there instead. With a sigh she turned around, dodged some nobles swaying unsteadily on their feet, and made for the Chantry instead.

Though there was no doubting the sounds that came from the shadows surrounding the building, its interior had fortunately retained its sanctity. The atmosphere drowned out the noise the moment she stepped inside, cutting her off from the rest of the world. It was not unique to this particular Chantry; be it a grand cathedral or a simple village parish, it was this very atmosphere that made even the unfaithful pause as they entered and not dare to raise their voices above a whisper. But while this Chantry — with its thick walls and heavy doors — had a natural aura of solitude, tonight even it did not feel as secure as it had at other times.

She slowly made her way forward, reaching out to the pews and touching them ever so slightly in passing. Every footstep echoed softly against the stone; the smooth wood was cold under her fingertips. She turned to the side and paused before the alcove housing Andraste's statue. Though her features were impossible to make out in the dark, Elsa knew them well enough to see. She knelt down in front, automatically straightening out the long coat underneath her. Her hands froze mid-motion and she stared at them.

_What does it matter if it crinkles?_

It didn't. She just closed the hole in the sky, saved the world.... She could mess up every garment in Haven and no-one could say a word about it. But she couldn't bring herself to leave it the way it was, nor could she make herself finish what she'd started. So she just stared at her hands holding the fabric, suddenly feeling the overwhelming urge to cry.

"Elsa?"

His voice was cautious, questioning. He wasn't sure she was here... if she stayed quiet he'd probably leave. Just like she didn't know what she wanted to do about her coat, she didn't know if she wanted him to find her. But when a faint rustle told her he was turning away, her voice called out his name on its own.

His footsteps rang louder than hers had, their muffled thuds accompanied by a metallic ringing of the armor on his knees. A silhouette came into view in the middle of the hall, turned, and carefully closed in on where she was sitting.

"There you are... I've been looking for you."

His foot accidentally hit her knee as he moved to sit across from her.

"Maker, was that you?"

"Only a little."

"Sorry! I'm sorry, it's very dark."

"Don't worry about it, I'm —”

"Wait, where are you?"

She felt his hand move some distance from her face and reached out to touch it. It jumped a little when she did, but then he briefly grasped her fingers in his own as he sat himself down.

"Do you... mind if I make a light?"

She shook her head.

"... Elsa?"

"Oh! No, I don't... go ahead."

"Ah, okay. One moment."

She could feel him moving around, searching for something on the floor around the statue. A few sparks danced to life from the flint and steel, until a sudden flame momentarily blinded her. Cullen carefully lit some of the candles in the alcove, before quickly extinguishing the match.

"There." His hand reached up to scratch the back of his neck, the candlelight gently illuminating the flush on his cheeks. "Sorry again. Are you alright?"

"It's okay," she said quickly. "It didn't hurt."

"That's good." He smiled cautiously, his eyes staying on her face for a little while in between shortly darting off to the side. "I suppose it wouldn't, after what you just accomplished."

"Right."

She returned his smile for a moment, but felt hers quickly ebbing away again. His did as well as he settled his gaze on her now, and a long moment of silence hung between them until he spoke again.

"You, ehm... did not want to join the party?"

"Ah, I was there, but I'm... not in the mood, I guess. What about you?"

"No... I'm not really the type for parties."

"There're no elderly ladies at this one."

"Hah," he chuckled, "that's something to be grateful for, at least."

For a moment they laughed like they used to, except it didn't reach her like it had back then. If anything, realizing just how far away that pleasant feeling was, left her feeling more hollow than ever.

"Elsa... What's wrong?"

She rested her head against the stone, turning her gaze upwards. Andraste looked down upon them, her stone eyes void of emotion. At times Elsa had looked at her and seen sadness, anger, even joy... but now the Maker's bride was just that, an empty face carved from stone.

"What will happen now?"

"Now?" A slight frown formed in his features as he considered the question. "We... we keep going. We need to find out more about this Elder One, and what he's plotting against the Empress. And... now that we have more resources, we can still try to find your brother."

"Cullen," she sighed, "Do you honestly think that still matters now?"

"What... of course it does! We can —”

"How many people disappear without a trace during a war? With the state the templars were in, and the things we've found... Is it not a blessing if he's dead, considering what the alternative might be?"

Warped and disfigured, his bright blue eyes filled with red lightning... she shook her head, but the image would not be so easily erased from her mind.

"Elsa..."

How small they all were; her and Myca... their lives, their hopes, their dreams, their fears and problems. Whatever her brother had been thinking when he left home, whatever he'd hoped to be a part of, it couldn't have been what they found at Therinfal. She'd almost forgotten the things they'd discovered there. Everything that had happened from the moment Envy had started to crawl into her mind seemed like a hazy, distant dream by now. But something was planning to kill the Empress and throw Orlais into chaos... what was she to do against such a threat?

"You can't lose faith," Cullen said softly. "Today was a victory. Thedas will continue to look to us for help."

"I know. I... I don't mean to say that I don't have faith in the Inquisition. I do. If anyone can restore order and save the Empress it would be you."

"Us."

His tone was harsher now, though not unfriendly. She turned back to him, finding a new intensity in his look that wasn't there before.

"You are a part of the Inquisition as much as anyone here," he asserted. "If not more so."

"The mark was needed to close the Breach." She flexed her hand. The scar had stilled without the rift to aggravate it, but still glowed faintly in the dark. "Without it, what can I add?"

"W-what do you mean?" He inched towards her, but stopped himself before he got too close. "Our people look to you... You give them hope. You are —”

"What?" she interrupted. "What am I? Please tell me, because I honestly don't know. Everything I've done, everything I thought I would be; it's all gone!"

Her hand shot to her mouth in a reflex. She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but the faint echo of her words still reverberated inside the stone hall. Her fingers trembled slightly against her lips, while she tried to still her shaking breath.

The leather of his gloves was smooth on her skin when he took her hands in his. He leaned in a little, fixing her with his eyes.

"Do you think I don't understand?" he asked. "Do you think I did not ask myself those same questions when Kirkwall lay around me in ruins?"

Tiny flames danced in his eyes, illuminating the pain behind them. He swallowed, and looked away for a moment, before returning to her with renewed vigor.

"You have proven yourself to be more than what you used to be, more than what you were supposed to be. I don't know if Andraste sent you, but you are everything that we needed you to be and more. Even if that role will change now, you have a purpose. I... I can help you find it."

"Cullen..."

His gloved hand stroked back the loose strands of hair, sending a shiver down her spine. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't look away from him anymore. His eyes burned into hers, his smell clouded her thoughts. His lips continued to move, but she couldn't hear the words. All she heard was her heart jolting back to life as his mouth brushed against hers, pounding against her ribs with such force she thought they might break.

"M'lady Herald!"

Cullen pulled back with a start, and they both stared in the direction of the entrance. Several silhouettes were framed against the moonlight, but got lost in the shadows as they stumbled inside.

"Could've zworn I zaw her come in here," said one voice, slurring distinctly.

Just like that, the spell that had hung over the Chantry was broken. The air seemed to have dropped in temperature with the smell of beer now penetrating the hall. One of the figures knocked against a bench, making a loud scraping noise on the stone followed by a string of curse words. Another voice laughed loudly — much too loud — and they continued to make their way forwards, slowly inching in on their location.

Cullen moved swiftly, taking her hand as he blew out the candles. His shape, now once more covered in darkness, leaned in closer, making her jump a little when his voice spoke right next to her ear.

"Follow me."

She didn't hesitate, and let him pull her up from the ground. They hid behind one of the pillars, his hand holding hers tightly in his own, while she wrapped her other around his upper arm. Even though he continued to look around the pillar, focusing on their escape, she felt him pulling her a little closer towards him in response.

They took their chance when another ruckus told them someone had walked into a candlestick. The metal clattered on the tiles, followed by more curses and laughter. No one heard their footsteps as they made a dash through the shadows and exited the Chantry, now little more than just another building with sturdy doors.

The party was still in full swing. Cullen didn't hesitate. He walked with determination, avoiding groups that might want to stop them, and weaving his way through the village. He paused abruptly on the crossing leading towards her cottage, however, staring at the scene that had kept her from going there earlier.

"What do they think they're doing?" he said angrily. "I'll tell them —”

He stopped when she didn't move with him, and turned around.

"That's your cabin."

"I know, but... I don't want to deal with it now. And they might just come knocking later. Can't we... can't we go somewhere else?"

He cast one more angry glance at the hut, before looking around, searching. After a few moments he settled on the gate, and gently pulled her forward.

"Over here."

They exited the village, finding the grounds outside to be almost deserted in comparison. There was light in a some of the tents and a few people sat by different campfires, but no one paid much attention to the two figures making their way through and quickly entering the largest tent next to the forest border.

Her eyes took a while to get used to the darkness. Outside, the grounds had been lit by the fires and the moon, but all that was filtered by the canvas. Elsa blinked a few times and slowly the shapes of Cullen's quarters came into view. His desk, adorned with a single candle stump and overflowing with reports. His armor stand in the corner, now empty, with his sword carefully stored away besides it. The large storage chest with a templar crest, probably one he'd brought with him from Kirkwall. And of course the cot, neatly made, that she had waited on when she'd gone to tell him about Myca. Everything seemed different now than it had back then. She'd been so involved with her own concerns that she hadn't registered it much, and perhaps she'd even dismissed the tent as being worthy of any attention at all. But standing there in the dark, while Cullen quickly moved forward to feverishly organize the mess on the tabletop, she realized how much of him was in this space, and how special it was that he would let her in.

"You, ehm... can take the bed, if you're tired," he said, not looking up from the papers. "I'll do some work, or... We probably shouldn't make a light, they might... Well, I can polish something, it's fine. In a few hours things will quiet down and you can go back —”

"Cullen."

He slowly turned around, and sighed.

"Forgive me. Before, I... You are going through a lot. I didn't mean to take advantage."

"You didn't. I..." She stepped forward, pulled there by her heart as it seemed to leap towards him. "I want..."

"What?"

His voice had turned low, with a slight huskiness she'd never heard before. He followed her example now, moving in closer, his high-shouldered silhouette slightly looming over her in the dark. Strong hands gently took hold of her sides and pulled her closer, pressing her against his armored frame.

There was nothing left to be certain of. All her efforts in the past had gone to waste, the future she had always been sure of dissolved. All the time she'd spent pretending, scheming, flattering, keeping up her facade... Nothing of that mattered anymore. She wasn't sure of who she was, of who she was supposed to be, and of who she would become.

For now, the only thing she was sure of was the man standing before her, so close despite him knowing her secrets and his own troubled past. Her heart, so still these last few weeks, hammered against his cuirass. Her chest, hollow and void, was filled with light.

"I want to be with you."

She thought she might burst when he kissed her again. One of his hands slid to the small of her back, while the other moved up and tangled itself within her hair. She froze for a moment, fearful of her emotions being so close to the surface, so untamed and uncontrolled. But as he continued to caress her, firmly holding her against his chest with his strong arms wrapped around her, she slowly let go. This tent, with its thin canvas walls, could not measure against her cabin, let alone the stone defenses of the Chantry. Yet it was here, with the cold wind blowing in through the gaps and swaying the shabby support beams, that she felt truly safe for the first time in months.

 

Cullen's chest rose under her cheek as she listened to the gentle beat of his heart. He was warm, much warmer than her, but he didn't seem to mind. He nuzzled the top of her head, breathing in deeply, and she felt him smile as he pulled her closer against him.

"Are you alright?" he murmured.

"Yes," she answered, looking up. "Why?"

"I just... want to make sure. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Oh. No, not after... the first bit. I... didn't hurt you either?"

He laughed, making her shake slightly in his arms. "No. How would you have?"

"Just... I don't usually let my guard down like this. Because... because of my magic."

His laughter died quickly, making way for a frown. "Oh."

He looked at her a while longer, considering her with his eyes darting between hers. Then he rolled her off him, and positioned himself over her instead.

"Don't ever feel like you can't let your guard down around me," he said softly. "You won't hurt me, I promise."

"I'm not sure that's your promise to make," she smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

"You can make it instead."

"Alright... I promise."

He returned her smile as he leaned down to kiss her, only to freeze mere inches from her face. He looked up, his expression suddenly tense, and stared towards the back of the tent.

"Cullen?"

"Something is wrong."

He was up in an instant, grabbing his breeches off the floor on his way to the exit. He'd barely pulled them on as he threw open the canvas and looked outside.

Footsteps ran past the tent, while frightened screams sounded in the distance. A moment later the bells began to ring, piercing through the night and killing any lingering noises of the party.

Elsa sat upright, holding the blanket to her chest, and watched Cullen's expression go from concern, to shock. He turned back a moment later, pausing briefly as their eyes met.

"Get dressed. We're under attack."


	19. Confusion Worse Confounded

His armor lay scattered across the ground; perhaps the first time in his life not properly put away where it belonged and where it allowed for the most efficient way to put it back on. Cullen quickly fastened his belt, straightened out his shirt, and bent down to grab his bracer off the floor.

He briefly glanced towards the other side of his tent. Elsa's face was shrouded behind her hair as she too hurriedly searched for her clothing. Her hands moved quickly to tie the laces on her bodice, the ones he had undone less than an hour ago, covering up her milky white skin. He shook his head, continuing to search for his other bracer as he lifted up his cuirass and strapped it on.

From what he'd seen the force was massive; wave after wave of torches spilling over the mountain. They'd come from the direction of Ferelden, but he'd seen no other identifying features.

The bulk of the templar forces was still on their way to Haven, days away at best. They had 38 veterans, a few dozen soldiers... If only he hadn't sent those squads out for further supply gathering. At the rate their assailants were moving, they had fifteen minutes, twenty at most. He'd walked that distance himself and taken longer, but whomever it was closing in on their location moved with a speed that wasn't natural.

Their chances, what were their chances? They didn't have the numbers, not by a long shot, and what they had needed to be slapped out of a drunken stupor. There were children, Chantry sisters, workers... 

_Where is my bracer?!_

"Cullen."

Her eyes were fearful, even more so due to the dark make-up still lining them. In her trembling hands was the last piece of his armor, a long, blackened gash running across it. He took it, letting his hand linger on hers for a moment. She swallowed visibly, then nodded as she let go and folded her hands in front of her.

The silence between them could not have lasted longer than a moment, yet it seemed to stretch on forever. He didn't have time to waste, couldn't afford the distraction... but how could he leave her now?

"What can I do?"

Her mask was far from what it had once been, but a hardened glint had appeared in each pupil. Her jaw was sharp, her chin forward. Her fear had not gone, but her determination shone through even stronger. Not even when she had triumphed over the Breach had his admiration for her been as great as it was right now.

"Take care of the people. Spread the word for everyone to get inside the Chantry, it's the safest place."

Another long moment of stillness, in which a silent understanding passed between them. Then they turned, Cullen first with Elsa following suit, and exited the tent.

The camp was utter chaos, with men and women scrambling to find their weapons and armor. Even those who were dressed and alert seemed to have forgotten their training completely. Cullen scanned the scene, taking inventory of their supplies, the state of his soldiers, and the rapidly shrinking distance between them and the approaching army.

The others were already at the gate, though only Leliana lifted an eyebrow at their approach. Everyone else was too busy to notice; Josephine's expression was one close to terror as she stared into the distance, while Cassandra was somewhere between concerned and livid. Cullen was briefly grateful for the fact that the Seeker was on their side.

They conferred briefly, confirming their assessments of the situation, only to have their attention swiftly pulled back towards the mountain path.

A small squad was approaching fast on horseback, chasing a lone rider out in front. Mana surged, swirling from the tips of a staff that flashed in the dark. Bolts of lightning forked in great arcs, striking down the frontmost pursuers and sending their mounts crashing to the ground. The ones following narrowly dodged their fallen allies, the hooves of their horses thundering on the icy ground, and prepared their counter attacks.

The first horse, a black steed shining with sweat, swerved to the side to avoid a bolt of fire. The spell struck the ground instead, breaking apart rock and ice. A hissing cloud of steam rose up, engulfing the riders. For a moment they were gone from view, until the black horse leaped out from the fog. It stumbled, caught itself, then tripped again, and sent its rider flying the remainder of the path towards them. 

The man rolled through the dirt until he came to a sliding halt. he jumped up almost instantly and his staff flashed once more. Concentrated flashes of energy were launched with two quick jabs from the weapon. His remaining attackers, almost upon him and unable to dodge, collided with his spells at the height of their power. The horses cried out, their veins lighting up under their skin, and crushed their riders as they lost their footing and collapsed to the ground.

The man stood victorious, though he did not look it. He was covered in dirt and scrapes and was leaning on his staff to keep his knees from buckling.

"A little help," he said, glancing in their direction, "would be much appreciated."

Cullen caught him just in time before his legs gave way. The mage rested on him with his full weight, but quickly scrambled to regain his footing. 

"Who are you?" Cassandra demanded, pushing forward.

"That is not really the most important thing right now." The lightheartedness of his tone was only slightly undermined by the blood now seeping through the cloth covering his ribs. "I've come to warn you, fashionably late of course."

He turned around, motioning with his staff into the distance. They all followed the gesture, and listened as he explained the identity of the woman standing there, and the monstrous figure besides her.

Cullen barely heard the rest of the conversation, nor Varric quietly cursing to himself in disbelief. An army of mages was approaching, rebels and Tevinter extremists, and whatever else the Elder One had recruited. They'd be attacking from a distance, possibly even from the opposite end of the lake. They could set the entire village on fire without ever even stepping into the range of their archers, let alone their soldiers. They needed to increase their reach, take them out before they could strike. The trebuchets were not accurate enough, did not cover a big enough distance. Unless...

"Cullen." Cassandra snapped him from his thoughts. "A plan?"

"We turn the trebuchets. Aim them towards the mountain and bury that army. It's the only chance."

The Seeker's eyes widened briefly, then she nodded. "I'll take the farthest one myself."

She was gone a moment later, barking at a group of soldiers to follow her, while Solas and Varric joined her without needing any encouragement. Elsa appeared next to him and put her arm around the stranger's waist.

"I've got him," she said quickly. "Go."

"Get everyone to safety," Cullen repeated, moving the man's weight onto her instead, "and... be careful."

"You too."

The pair began to move towards the gate, the first few steps slowly as the man searched for balance between her and his staff, but then gradually gaining speed. She was too busy to look back, and Cullen only allowed himself to watch her a brief moment longer. Then his attention shifted, and the Herald disappeared from his thoughts.

"You there!" he yelled at a group of recruits standing frozen in the middle of the training grounds, "Head to the first trebuchet, defend it at any cost! Templars, take position on the paths and defend the waterline! Keep the mages at bay! Everyone, remember your training! Do not let fear control you, work as a unit!"

One by one, the panic dissipated form his soldiers' faces as they followed his commands. He paced the camp, shouting instructions, and only barely getting his troops in formation for the first wave of attackers to reach them.

They were no mages, but bands of mercenaries and other assorted hirelings. They fought with a savagery that was unpredictable, but many of them were ill-equipped and disorganized. Their wall of veterans made short work of most of them, and Cullen could for the first time see the results of all the training he'd put his men through. Their workers had also joined their forces, carrying anything either sharp or heavy enough to make a decent weapon. They fended off the attackers with minimal injuries, and the first trebuchet launched its shot. It caused a minor avalanche in the distance, creating an obstruction for the forces still coming down the mountain, but did not have the effect he'd intended.

_Hurry up, Cassandra..._

The first volley of magic was devastating. The templars raised their shields as one, their aura nullifying much of the fire raining down upon the front lines, but unable to catch it all. A large meteor struck down on the stables, igniting a fire that quickly spread to the blacksmith next to it. It only barely missed Dennet as he pulled the last of the terrified horses towards the village. Another rock crashed into the outer wall, bounced once, then continued to roll into the village. Flames rose up moments later from the direction of the tavern, and he hoped that no one had taken refuge there.

With the second wave of attackers things became even worse. They were more unified, fighting in groups that tried to close in on lone templars and take them down first. Mages were among them as well, sending every element their way and picking off those that were not shielded by a protective barrier. 

Giving orders became increasingly difficult. From what little of the battlefield he could see, his troops became more scattered, the squads thinner by the minute. In between fending off attackers, he yelled above the screaming to make himself understood to his runners. Smoke burned in his lungs and made his eyes water, as he saw them get cut down before they could relay the messages to his sergeants.

Brief respite came from a surge of healing energy and a green barrier that flashed over him. Madam de Fer stood atop the wall with the few mages that had joined them over time. The chaos below was more than the small number could manage, but they were clearly giving it their all in supporting those most in need. Another shot launched from the trebuchet that was in his field of view, once again causing a minor movement that washed away part of the invading army. He was beginning to fear the worst as he struck down another mercenary, until — at last — a boulder shot up from the other side of the hill and flew away from the field in a graceful arc.

A brief break in the assault, and the attention of everyone shifting to the mountainside, caused a sudden hush to fall over the battlefield. They didn't hear the rock land, nor did they hear anything else for a long moment. Then, a soft rumble, no louder than a purring cat, began to form. It grew louder, from a whisper to a thundering roar, as the snow came rushing down like a tidal wave. The pinpricks of torchlight dimmed; the assailants that had been in closer range got knocked off their feet and were washed away.

He only allowed himself a moment to savor the victory, and took the opportunity to regroup. His troops flocked towards him and quickly took in their new directions, while Cassandra and her team came into view further down the southern path.

The sudden screech took them all by surprise, making most of them cover their ears in a reflex. A black form had appeared over the mountain, quickly coming towards them and taking shape. Leathery wings torn at the edges, scaly skin stretched across a skeletal frame, and fire building at the back of its throat.

_Are you kidding me?_

The first charge from the dragon's fire blew up the trebuchet, sending splinters in all directions. Its tail struck a tree as it swooped down and flew across, tearing it from the ground with roots and all.

"Inside the walls, now!" Cullen yelled. "Get to the Chantry, all of you!"

The call echoed through the crowd as people passed on the message, and everyone turned towards the gate. There was pushing and pulling as too many people tried to rush the gate at once, and it took both him and Cassandra to get them back in formation and inside the village. 

He quickly spotted Fletcher, and relayed his instructions. The man frowned shortly, but then nodded in confirmation. He grabbed a soldier by his collar and dragged him back, causing several others to halt as well. Orders were given and the squad turned away, running for the last trebuchet rather than the Chantry.

Cullen and Cassandra waited for the last of the stragglers before they both grabbed one of the doors, and pushed the gate shut.

"The avalanche didn't catch all of them," Cassandra breathed. The Seeker had pulled off her helmet, revealing a trickle of blood running down the side of her face. She was also holding her shield rather awkwardly, as if its weight was too much for her arm.

"It worked as well as we could have hoped," said Cullen. "And we're not done yet. But that thing..."

He didn't need to say it out loud; they both knew what the appearance of the dragon meant. They were backed into a corner, with nothing but impassable mountain behind them. The walls of the village — or what was left of them — would only hold against the remaining ground troops for a limited time. Once they were through, they could still make a stand inside the Chantry. But then...

"We need to tell people," Cassandra said quietly, "To warn as many as possible."

Cullen nodded, but didn't speak. A muscle twitched in the Seeker's jaw and she too nodded, once. She raised her arm, crossing it in front of her torso, and held it there as a small smile formed around her mouth. He returned it and raised his own arm, pressing it against hers as she pushed back. A small gesture, nothing more than a simple sign of camaraderie among soldiers, but all that needed to be said. All that was left to say.

The Chantry was filled to the brim, the air stale with the smell of blood and sweat. The injured lay lined up along the wall with healers moving between them; villagers clustered together in groups, their expressions tense and frightened; soldiers sat and stood around, many nursing injuries of varying severity themselves, others simply looking battered and scorched; over the hushed murmurs, the whinnying of frightened horses pierced the subdued atmosphere. Cullen would have felt relieved at how many had made it to the Chantry alive, if not for his knowledge of what was awaiting them. 

Chancellor Roderick sat close to the entrance. He was one of those most grievously injured, and was being attended by the mage that had recently arrived.

"How is he?" Cullen asked the man.

"Not too well," he replied. "I did what I could, but his injuries are... I'm afraid there's not much more to be done."

He got up, wiping his bloodied hands on his trousers. The mage seemed to have managed mending his own injuries well enough, though his movements were still a little stiff.

"Now," he continued, "what is happening out there?"

More people gathered around — Varric, Barris, Vivienne, and the others of the Inquisition's leadership. They all looked to him, though only a few of them did not yet understand the reality of their situation.

"We are overrun," Cullen said in a low voice to not alarm the rest of the people. "This building will hold, but only for a limited time."

"That doesn't sound too good, Curly," Varric grumbled.

Cullen ignored him.

"We will send ravens to our allies and to our troops stationed outside of Haven. We'll tell them what happened here and all we know about the Elder One's plans. What we can hope to do now, is do as much damage as possible."

"What do you suggest?" Vivienne asked.

Cullen's attention was drawn to Fletcher's squad entering the Chantry. The man nodded their success to him, but gestured at the rest of his group. It wasn’t hard to see that not as many of them had returned as had gone out; the enemy was closing in.

"The last trebuchet has been loaded and aimed towards the mountain. We can cause one more slide, and cover the rest of that army."

"It won't stop the dragon," said Leliana.

"It won't, but we can at least take as many of them down as we can."

"Excuse me," the mage interrupted, "but it sounds like I came all this way only to die buried underneath a layer of snow. I can't say it sounds very appealing."

"We have no other options," Cullen bit back. 

Unlike the rest, the mage had made no attempt to keep his voice down. People were starting to look in their direction, while others seemed to stop what they were doing and instead focused on listening to their conversation.

"So your only idea is mass suicide? For a templar you sound an awful lot like a blood mage."

Josephine jumped with fright at Chancellor Roderick letting out a harrowed, bloody cough. He tried to get up from his chair, only to immediately lose his balance. The mage caught him before he fell and ushered him back into the seat. It was there that he told them of a path, hidden behind the Chantry, and possibly their only chance of survival.

Cullen rejected the notion at first, having accepted their fate of going down fighting. As a templar he had learned not to fear death, had even welcomed the thought in his worst moments. He did not, however, welcome it now, and the new information quickly spurred his mind back into action.

They could continue their plan; bury their attackers underneath the avalanche, while they made their escape through the mountains. They'd be moving slowly, meaning they would need a head start to not be caught in the wave themselves.

"Alright, new plan. Divide the people into groups. Each of you," he said, pointing at the people around him, "is a group leader. We need to move out of here efficiently, or it'll all fall apart."

He turned towards the mage, whose hands were glowing blue as he moved them over Roderick's abdomen.

"Can you support him, help him show us the way?"

"Done."

He finished the spell, then hoisted the Chancellor up and pulled his arm around his shoulders. They made their way through the crowd and to the back of the Chantry. A small explosion was heard a short time later, suggesting the mage had blasted through the back wall to give them an exit.

The injured were placed on stretchers, and more people began to move. Supplies were gathered, mothers bundled up their children, and soldiers grabbed their arms. Slowly, the Chantry hall began to empty, everyone filing though the war room and into the cold beyond.

Cassandra pushed her way out of the moving masses, and joined him at the entrance.

"We need to get above the tree line before the trebuchet can be launched," she stated. 

Cullen had opened the front door and surveyed the village through the crack. Some troops were ransacking the camp, while efforts were being made to break down the gate. The dragon was, for the moment, nowhere to be seen.

"Agreed. Someone needs to stay behind to launch it and keep the enemy from interfering."

"Do I take it you are planning to take on this task yourself?"

Her expression was stern, as usual, but he could tell she wasn't going to stop him. As commander his duty was to the army and the Inquisition; part of that responsibility was to not put himself in a position that would likely result in death. But he could not ask someone else to make this particular sacrifice, and nor could the Seeker.

"You need backup," she said.

"I'll take some of the templars." 

Several of them broke away from the crowd at his gesture. They lined up behind him, unquestioning even though they did not yet know their purpose. It was a testament to their training... it was also what had allowed their Order to be reduced to the state it was in. He shook that thought from his mind for the moment; there was no point in dwelling on it now.

He pulled the door open further, and looked to the back of the hall. The last of the people were crowding around the war room, and soon would exit the Chantry altogether. 

"Good luck," Cassandra told him.

"Maker watch over you."

"Cullen?"

He turned back.

"Whatever you can to make it back. That's an order."

Before he could reply, Varric's voice cut across the hall. Cassandra turned at the sound of her nickname, her expression sharpening. Vivienne followed closely behind him as both made their way towards them.

"What is it, Varric?" the Seeker said agitatedly. "You are supposed to be —”

"Where is Sterling?"

Cullen's thoughts, focused on the task at hand, took a moment to catch up. Elsa had gone to the Chantry with the mage, had been spreading the message to everyone to get to the Chantry. He'd vaguely registered the presence of most of their people in the crowd, and had no reason to assume she wasn't somewhere in there making herself useful. She must have been with the people moving outside... surely.

"Josephine has been near the exit the Tevinter created, she hasn't seen her pass," Lady Vivienne added. "We've been asking around; some have seen her, but no one can recall her being in the Chantry for the last half hour."

"She must have been," Cassandra replied, closing in on the other two with a single stride. "Where else would she be?"

"Last time I saw her, she was helping Minaeve," said Varric, wringing his hands. There was no trace of humor left in the dwarf's expression; it made him appear years older than his actual age. "I lost sight of her after. She was helping the villagers, maybe... maybe she went back out."

They all moved towards the door now, the tension between them one of nervous anxiety. A loud smash signaled the breaching of the gate, while more troops began to make their way into the village by scaling the wall. They had to leave soon, or they wouldn't be able to reach the trebuchet anymore. Cullen's eyes searched the village, scanning for silver hair, a white coat, or anything else that would make him spot Elsa in between the fire and smoke.

"There!"

Cassandra pointed in the distance, though for a moment Cullen couldn't tell at what. Something was moving beyond the mountain ridge, a dark shape larger than a house. The dragon's tail struck out behind it, cutting down the trees blocking it from view. It circled a lone figure, slowly backing away from the tall creature approaching her, until it grabbed her arm and lifted her into the air.

"Templars!" Cullen called, unsheathing his sword, "With me!"

Cassandra grabbed his arm before he could as much as step outside.

"What do you hope to accomplish against that thing?" she hissed.

"We have to do _something_!"

"Look!"

The Elder One had tossed the Herald aside, slamming her into the ground and making her roll through the snow. She remained still, while the dragon took position behind its master and the two began to close in on her.

When she moved, it happened in an instant. She drew the bowstring back as she pushed herself to her knees, aiming an arrow at the dragon's head. The creature shrieked when it struck its eye, throwing its weight on its hind legs as it clawed at the wound. In the momentary confusion she aimed another shot, seemingly at nothing, and let it fly.

On the other side of the ridge, a boulder swung up from outside their field of view, rapidly heading towards the mountains. It struck the side of the cliff, where a small cloud of dust quickly turned into a rumbling wave coming towards them.

"Bolt the door!" Cullen called. "And get to the cellar!"

The windows shattered, letting snow and broken glass spill into the hall as they ran towards the stairs. The avalanche was deafening, making the building groan underneath its force. It lasted no longer than a few minutes, which they sat hunched low in the basement of the Chantry. A hushed silence settled in after, ominous in contrast to what had come before.

They climbed back up the stairs, finding the Chantry had remained intact, but with snow spilling in through the broken windows. Half of the hall was covered, and the night sky had been covered from view by a wall of white.

A glowing sphere appeared at the end of Vivienne's staff, illuminating their surroundings. It hovered in front of them as they made their way to the back of the building, where she summoned more of her mana and began to burn a path through the compacted ice blocking their way.

Varric lingered at the door to the war room, looking back into the dark hall.

"Varric."

Cassandra reached out to the dwarf, but then seemed to change her mind. Instead she retracted her hand and simply stood behind him, holding her injured shield arm by the elbow instead.

He only lingered a moment longer, but then turned to follow the others who had already gone outside. Shimmering streaks lined his face, only briefly illuminated by the eerie shine filtering through the icy tunnel. Cullen pretended not to see them, as he knew the others would do for him soon enough.


	20. Of Necessity

_Am I dead?_

A sharp sting began to throb in her head, as if rallying against the notion. It intensified within seconds, sending blood coursing through her veins that pounded on her eardrums.

She gasped as the feeling surged back into her arms and legs. Her palms were burning, like a thousand needles sticking into her skin. Her arms and legs lay at awkward angles, resisting her attempts to straighten them out.

When she opened her eyes, it made barely a difference. Faint light filtered in from above, muted streaks of the moon that had almost lost their brilliance by the time they reached her under the thick layer of compacted snow. Her head was angled to the side, giving only view of her hand lying some distance from her face. The mark pulsed faintly, casting a soft greenish glow unto the icy stone beneath.

Her body began to tremble, mild shivers at first that rapidly evolved into violent spasms. Her face scraped against the rocky surface; the scar was a blur on her trembling hand.

_I have to get up._

Her fingers were immobile, dragging across the ground as she forced her arm muscles into motion. Her core began to shake when she tried to push herself up, only for her arms to give way a short moment later. She lay still for a moment, catching her breath before trying to lift her head. The rushing of blood intensified, making spots cloud her vision as she looked around.

She was in a cavern of sorts, with a dark passage stretching out in front of her. The floor and walls were icy rocks, here and there supported by old and failing support beams. She would have speculated on its existence, who had created it, or what its function was once upon a time, if not for the fact that she couldn’t hear herself over the sound of her teeth hammering against each other inside her mouth.

Her second attempt at getting herself up was more successful, though the muscles in her neck and shoulders protested loudly under the strain. She sat on the floor of the cavern and wrapped her arms around herself. It was an intuitive gesture rather than an effective one; what little warmth was left inside her quickly continued to drain away.

Her knees cracked as she pulled her legs closer, while her cramped muscles continued to resist as she pushed herself off the ground. Eventually she managed to stand, swaying on her deadened limbs, and began to take tentative steps into the dark corridor. Her temperature rose under the effort, making sweat pearl under her clothes and drip down her spine. Inch by inch she made her way through, slipping on the icy patches, and all the while clutching her shivering body with both arms.

_How did I get here?_

She leaned against one of the beams, gasping, and tried to remember.

A tall creature, his body seemingly fused together with his tattered, armored robe. His breath had burned on her face… His magic had stirred up her own, like the Breach had done before it, and had made her gut swirl uncomfortably as she fought it back down.

A mistake, he’d called her. An unintentional disruption to a ritual years in the planning. Her search for Myca had led her to the wrong place, at the wrong time; nothing more. Though she’d always doubted Andraste’s supposed hand in her survival, it was hard to accept she was really just that: an accident. Perhaps she’d been playing the role long enough to begin to convince herself.

A faint breeze brushed through the corridor, stirring the bloodied strands of hair hanging down her face. She squinted against the darkness, staring in the direction it had come from. For a moment she thought she’d imagined it, until it started up again; a draft, bitingly cold, but the signal of an exit. With effort she dragged her weight back to her feet, and resumed her walk.

_“This Elder one came here with one goal in mind. He wants you, Herald.”_

The Tevinter mage — she couldn’t recall his name — had told her more about Redcliffe while she had escorted him to the Chantry. The mages, backed into a corner and desperate, even more so when they heard of the Inquisition marching on Therinfal and seemingly declaring support for the Order. The arrival of the magisters, and the deal they had struck with the rebels in return for their protection. The Elder One, corrupting those same mages further with the help of red lyrium, and turning them on Haven.

_“Why does he want me?”_

_“I do not know. All I know is that these people were told to hunt you down, no matter the costs… on either side.”_

They’d reached the Chantry when the first sounds of fighting sounded from beyond the wall. The man transferred his weight to his staff, relieving her of his burden.

_“I’ll be fine. While I would like to keep you all to myself, I’m sure you have other business to attend.”_

She’d left him there, nursing his own injuries, and helped those trying to bring themselves and their belongings into the Chantry. It had been chaos… absolute chaos. People slipped on the ground, making others trip over them or trample right across. Flaming boulders came out of nowhere, crashing through thatch roofs and exploding on impact. She only barely managed to help a sister trapped under a damaged cart, before another charge exploded the cabin right besides them. The tavern burned, blackened support beams crumbling like sand and collapsing before her eyes. Screams came from inside, then were drowned out by the roaring flames.

It had only become worse once the enemy started slipping through the defenses and made their way over the wall. Some of their workers jumped forward in defense of the weaker, while she readied her weapon. Although none of her arrows had failed, it hadn’t prevented their people from being cut down before her, their blood spraying crimson across the snow.

She slipped on a loose rock, and slid down some frozen steps of roughly hewn stone. Her elbow sharply hit the ground, sending a jolt of electricity through her arm and frozen fingers. Tears sprung in her eyes, only to freeze halfway down her cheeks into shiny drops of ice.

_All of this… Because of me._

Her eyes fell on the hem of her coat, where tendrils of scarlet spread up through the white cloth. Visions of the Chantry surfaced before her from the dark; blood staining the stone floors, like spiderwebs of red running through the grooves between the tiles. Men, women, and children, almost indistinguishable from each other under the bruises and layers of grime, looked up as she passed them by. Their hands had reached out to her, faces hungry for reassurance. She’d fought the urge to back away, but her stomach turned with every prayer and each comforting gesture. The heaviness pressing on her chest gradually worsened, making the musty air even harder to breath, until eventually she couldn’t muster any more. She got up, avoiding the hopeful eyes following her motions, and pushed her way back out of the masses. Her vision swimming and her head spinning, she ran. Ran from the stench of blood and decay, from the Chantry and its Faith, from those faces who didn’t know who was to blame for their suffering. She ran in between the crumbling buildings and the raging fire, until she slipped to a halt and threw up in the bushes.

Memories were fuzzy after that, not helped by the slowing down of her brain. She pushed herself back up, stirred on by the draft as it resurfaced again, stronger this time, and continued to walk on instinct more than conscious thought.

Footsteps running by… someone mentioning Cullen’s name and the last trebuchet… a blast from above that threw her further down the hill. Darkness… shapes… and something dragging her through the snow until the sharp pain in the mark had snapped her back to consciousness.

The wind whipped her face when she finally exited the icy tunnel, and stepped out into the open air.

_“I have come for the anchor.”_

The actual reason for Haven’s destruction was the only distinct sensation she still had in her body; everything else had blended into the same burning, itching feeling of icy thorns scratching her skin. The snow before her was ankle deep, forcing her to lift her feet higher not to trip. Every step was a struggle, with her muscles deciding they were more happy remaining flexed rather than straightening out again. Very slowly she began to make her way up the hill, up being the only plausible direction she could think of, and tried to keep her mind busy in recalling what else had happened.

_Corypheus was its name… something about a city. A plan to assault the heavens._

The wind tore on her dress, dragging her sideways until her body slammed into a tree. Her feet scrambled to regain her balance and she stepped forward once again, only for another freezing gust to pull her in another direction like a puppet on a string.

_Pretender… Funny. Flinging rifts… an empty chair?_

The winds became worse without the cover of the trees, and the snow gradually thickened. She was in knee-deep now, pushing her way through rather than trying to step over it.

_I shot the thingie…_

_Trebuchet._

_… Cullen likes trebuchets._

Whether she tripped or her legs simply decided they’d done enough, she couldn’t tell. She sat in the snow, shivering from head to toe.

_“Did I hurt you?”_

She brought her hands together, fumbling with the stiffness of her digits. One of them became Cullen’s, tensing rhythmically as he pushed against her. He’d been everywhere; his smell, his taste, his touch… Were all men as warm as he had been?

_Warm… I have to stay warm._

The wind continued to howl, pushing the snow further up against her side. There was nothing around; no shelter, no cover, no people. She was alone.

_You have to do it._

_I can’t._

_If you don’t, you’ll die._

_I don’t know how._

_You’ve done it before…_

_You can do it again._

Her hands were her own again, locked together in a frozen embrace. She pulled them apart with some difficulty, and observed the dirty glove on her right. It took several attempts to bring it to her mouth and catch the fabric between her teeth. Inch by inch she dragged the cloth off of her numb fingers. Both her hands exposed she held them in front… and waited.

Vivienne and Solas had spoken of focusing their mana to a single point, of creating a controlled opening in the Veil, and forming the energy to their will.

_What does that even mean?_

Her magic was somewhere inside, numbed and slow like the rest of her, but not quite gone. It tingled in her belly, anxious like a caged animal that observed its handler coming closer with the key. It got to its feet, stretched, and paced the length of its confinement with increasing anticipation.

Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps a distant memory. Or perhaps it was simply her body giving up the last of its restraint. She turned the key and unlocked the cage. The animal waited for a moment, poised, then broke free.

Fire erupted from her palms, hot and blinding. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head, holding her hands as far from her body as she could. The heat flooded her body, making sweat break out on her forehead and neck. The snow around her melted away, further soaking her clothes.

With effort she opened one eye, and looked at her creation; a bright ball of swirling flames floating in midair. She opened the other eye as well, and turned towards it. Feeling rushed back to her body while she stared at it, hypnotized, making her muscles spasm as they woke from their slumber. For a short moment she simply sat there, the ball in harmonious suspension above her palms.

Sparks sputtered from the center, making sizzling dents where they landed in the snow. A swirl spun further than the others, and nearly lashed her face. The flames continued to warp, rapidly losing cohesion before her. The fleeting moment of peace made way for panic as the fire grew, morphing into something with eyes and faces and hands trying to grab her. A girl’s screams echoed across the mountain; her sister’s… her own.

Then it was gone, snuffed out like a candle. A dampening spell washed over her, roughly stuffing the animal back in its cage. Footsteps approached. Swords were pointed, people shouted. A man argued, a woman argued back.

Gloved hands touched her face as they draped a heavy, fur cloak around her. A glimpse of blond hair, matted with dried blood and ash, before he cradled her against his chest and lifted her up.

The voices continued to argue all the way, even until after she was lowered onto something soft and out of reach from the wind. She instinctively reached for him when he moved away, grabbing on to the armored forearm. The sharp smell of some herbal concoction pierced her nose, clouding her already hazy mind. She faded away, her fingers dragging across the damaged Templar insignia as her hand dropped to her side.


	21. A Way Forward

The results of the head-count were, miraculously, more positive than what he’d imagined; close to two-thirds of their people had made it out of Haven alive. Most had been lost during the fight, another large amount due to the premature launch of the trebuchet. He and the others had been comparatively lucky to be inside the Chantry when the avalanche hit, though only because they had the fortune of having a mage of Madam de Fer’s calibre with them. Vivienne sat beside one of the fires now, clearly exhausted, but determined to stay awake and observe the ongoing discussion.

Argument was a better word for it though. The news had spread like wildfire, and with a much polarizing effect; the Herald was a mage. Even though he’d known for some time now, he had scarce believed it when he saw it himself. At first he’d given her up for dead, had forced himself to accept that reality while they’d made their way up the mountain to catch up with the others. Once they’d established their sorry excuse for a camp, a mourning period had set in. Their people sat by the fires in silence, holding each other as they thought of their lost friends, family, and colleagues. Some of the supplies, haphazardly thrown into the backs of carts, contained candles. These were lit, one for each of their fallen comrades; many more for Elsa. The story of her standing up to the Elder One and his dragon, her sacrifice to bring down the mountain onto his army, was repeated around the flames. In death, Elsa Trevelyan would be remembered as a hero.

He hadn’t been able to pray, not after everything they’d been through. How quickly things had turned; from the sweet joy of holding her in his arms, sharing his bed, to their crushing defeat, and the knowledge that he’d never hold her again. He had sat by himself, unable to go to sleep although it was the only sensible thing left to do, when Solas approached him with Cole in tow. The boy continuously muttered to himself, seemingly nonsensical things about the cold, but Solas left no room for ambiguity.

“The Herald lives.”

“We saw her in Haven, Solas. There is no way that she —”

“Cole can hear her.”

“Hear her?”

“Yes. It would seem that Cole is a spirit. He has the ability to hear people’s thoughts.”

Cullen looked to the boy. The glassy eyes were milkier than ever, staring off into the distance.

“So cold…”

“That could be anyone,” he sighed. “Don’t get people’s hopes —”

“Cullen likes trebuchets.”

Solas arched an eyebrow, while Cullen stared at the boy for a long moment.

“That is… Why would someone be thinking that?”

“From what I can tell, her thoughts are erratic. Likely, she is heavily undercooled and perhaps losing consciousness soon.”

“A lot of people know that I… like trebuchets,” Cullen said, growing frustrated. There was no way Elsa could have survived; she had been in the center of the avalanche, had no cover to protect her whatsoever. This… spirit, was just going to crush morale even further with his vague comments. “Josephine makes fun of me for it. Why anyone would think it now, I don’t know, but —”

“It is… blurry,” the boy continued. “Warm… His hand in mine, his weight between my thighs. I’ve never… So warm.” Cole frowned as the words came spilling out. He angled his head and was silent for a moment. Then he turned, and the misty eyes looked straight into his. “Did I hurt you?”

Solas, too, now looked at Cullen, while the latter stared back at the boy, hoping the cold would keep the flush rushing to his face from showing itself. He stood there a moment longer, dumbstruck, while the spirit blankly looked up at him.

“Speed is likely to be of the essence, Commander,” Solas said quietly.

They’d left camp less than five minutes after that, following the mountain back towards Haven with the spirit as their compass.

When they first spotted her, she was no more than a pinprick in the distance, a tiny light in the snowy wasteland. They’d followed it, and eventually found her. She, like him, seemed unbelieving of what was before her; a bright ball of flame, one of her creation. Her gaze was transfixed on the object, so much that she didn’t seem to register their approach at all. Some of the search party — largely comprised of templar veterans — drew their weapons. He and Cassandra tried to keep them at bay, explain to them that it was alright, when Elsa screamed behind them. Her spell was spiraling out of control fast, not unlike those of young apprentices he’d seen in the Circle. She, however, had no mentor to help her reel it in. His momentary distraction was enough; one of the templars summoned his smite, while another began a dispelling aura; Cassandra only barely stopped the first, while the second hit Elsa with full force. Her spell was extinguished, her body went lame.

The fighting had begun right there and then, between Cassandra and the templars who had acted out of turn, and both camps — those supporting Elsa and those upset with the news — had rapidly grown in size as it continued. To his relief, those who supported her far outnumbered those who did not. The debate lost its fire eventually, however, with tiredness firmly settling in among the survivors. He quickly shut down those intent on causing more disturbance, and instead turned the discussion to what they should do next. Whatever Elsa Trevelyan was, it was not going to matter much if they all froze to death. This topic, however, caused no small amount of polarization either. Josephine advocated for staying put, while Cassandra argued for them to move forward. Leliana’s scouts were starting to return, as she wouldn’t let them get too far; there was no help for them coming any time soon, no way to tell where they were, and nowhere for them to go.

Elsa was still unconscious, unaware of the commotion she had created and their predicament. Perhaps that was a blessing, Cullen thought, considering the circumstances. They were trapped in the mountains, alive, but without a plan. She herself was a lying apostate to some, worming her way into a position of power and no better than those who had just attacked them. To others she was their Herald beyond a doubt, as well as their hero, and their savior. However their situation would be resolved, she wouldn’t be happy with either of those descriptions, of that he was certain.

 

* * *

 

She lay on her back, eyes closed, silently listening to the voices rising up from the other side of the canvas. They had been discussing her — the mage, as some now referred to her — for some time, but the fighting had ceased. A new discussion had started further from where she was and where she couldn’t hear the words, but only between the Inquisition’s leadership from what she could tell. Josephine sounded close to tears, while Cassandra seemed ready to punch the first person who gave her a good enough reason. Leliana was menacingly quiet, only speaking on occasion and after careful thought, while Cullen laced his remarks with frustrated sarcasm. They weren’t going to get anywhere. She didn’t need to hear what they said exactly to know that; the tone of their voices was enough.

At times she’d been able to help in their discussions in the war room. When they couldn’t decide on how to handle a particular issue, especially when the stress of their work had been getting to them, she had listened quietly to the escalating conversation, figuring out why each of them felt the way they did. She would then wait for the right moment to make herself heard, outline the issue from her outside perspective, and guide them to a compromise that worked for everyone.

But they weren’t in the war room now. Nor were their decisions about how to handle Lord So-and-So’s request, or whether to send spies or soldiers to investigate some caves. Their next decision was about life and death, and while a combination of an unhappy accident and a ridiculous amount of luck had made her something of a connoisseur in this topic, she didn’t delude herself that suggesting a middle-ground was going to be successful here.

The voices eventually died down completely, and there was little reason for her to remain stationary on her cot. She was covered under layers of fur, to the extent that it was getting uncomfortably hot. Her body felt remarkably ordinary besides that; not at all how she would have expected it to feel after what it had been through. Freezing, she now recalled, hadn’t been what she imagined either. Not that she’d spent much time in the past imagining what it was like to freeze to death, but she had pictured it as a slow, lulling, peaceful sensation, like falling asleep. It had been slow, but far from peaceful; most definitely not painless. She only remembered faintly what had happened, how she had managed to climb her way far enough up the mountain for the others to find her. What she did remember was the flaming ball of fire, and how she hadn’t been able to contain it.

It was with some difficulty that she pushed the mountain of fur off her and lowered her legs to the floor. There had been plenty of damage to her body, she now saw, evident by the bruises lining her arms and legs. They didn’t hurt much, but she guessed they were the leftovers of more serious injuries rather than simple bumps. Some warmer clothes than the ones she’d been wearing had been laid next to the bed. She was happy to get out of the sullied remains of her ceremonial garb, and quickly changed into the more practical outfit.

She’d only just pulled the thick undershirt over her head when someone entered her tent. Solas respectfully averted his eyes, but did not turn to leave as someone else might’ve done. Instead he waited quietly for her to finish, his gaze fixed off to the side, and turned back to face her only when she was pulling on her boots.

“Herald,” he said softly. “I am pleased to see you still live… again.”

“Heh…” She pushed her hair back, finding that someone had washed out the worst of the filth. The elf was looking at her rather intently now, and once again proved himself impossible to read. “It is getting a bit silly, isn’t it?”

“Silly is not the word they have been using out there.” He nodded in the general direction of where the voices had come from before. “‘Divine intervention’ seems to be a more common description.”

She sighed, sinking back onto the bed. It was true, from what she’d heard. Those who objected to her had been outweighed by those who did not. They spoke of her heroism, her miraculous return… some had thrown the term ‘resurrection’ around, which made her really uncomfortable. They were wrong, so very wrong… She had barely expressed her doubts before, doubts that were now a certainty. She couldn’t talk to anyone who believed, anyone from the Chantry, about what was on her mind. Even Mother Giselle, who had shown herself to be very understanding, would probably attempt to guide her back to the Faith, to somehow explain that everything was happening according to some plan.

Whatever Solas believed, she doubted it was in the Maker. He expressed no particular emotion or sentiment to the status the people had elevated her to, but he’d must have brought it up for a reason. Perhaps he wanted to see her response, gauge her opinion. He would do well in Val Royeux, she thought shortly. Then she told him, waves of words spilling out with no reservations, of everything that now came rushing back to her recovered mind. The things the Tevinter mage had told her, her encounter with Corypheus, the orb he was holding, his plan to enter the Fade, his attempt to remove the anchor. She looked at her hand, with Solas following her example.

“It was an accident,” she finished, breathing a little harder from how fast she’d been talking. “I just happened to walk into the room, nothing more. It… makes sense, doesn’t it? If Andraste had picked someone, she surely could have done a better job.”

Solas was quiet. He turned his back towards her and looked out over the camp below, framed by the glow of the distant fires.

“Better how?”

“I — I don’t know. Someone who can fight… someone experienced, someone…” She shook her head. “Someone who believes.”

“And you do not?”

“Not… like I used to.”

One of his ears twitched. For a while neither of them spoke, the words hanging heavily between them. Then he turned around, and the tip of his staff lit up with blue to light their faces in the dark tent.

“What has been happening could cause anyone to reevaluate their beliefs,” he said, quietly manipulating the flames. “Indeed, I have had to reconsider quite a few times myself since I sat beside you, keeping the mark from killing you.”

“You’re not too happy with me, I’m sure.”

“Am I pleased to see a group that has proven themselves brutal, corrupt, and self-righteous become our main force? No, not exactly. That was your doing, which makes the truth about you all the more perplexing.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “It’s rather complicated.”

“It appears to be rather simple, actually. You have been guided by the misguided, made to believe things about yourself and the world around you, and you never had any reason to question them. That, however, is changing.”

He angled his head slightly, his eyes rapidly flicking between hers. They reflected the flames, tiny blue sparks flitting across the surface.

“I have not yet settled on my opinion of you. I suggest you do the same.”

She let his words sink in for a moment, then got up. The camp was quiet, the atmosphere subdued. She scanned it, registering how many had made it out and what they had managed to bring with them. Though it was more than could have been expected, it clearly was not enough. Only half of the people had blankets and, judging from the carts she saw, their food could not last them more than a few days, even when rationed.

“We can’t stay here.”

“Your leaders seem to be in dispute on that matter.”

“I’ll talk to them. If we leave the mountains, find some of our allies, perhaps we can regroup.”

“That would be an option,” he nodded. “But might I suggest an alternative?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I find Solas so hard to write. Made a few minor edits to previous chapters, got some ideas for what's coming up. Time to taper off the doom and gloom a bit, I feel. Might have to take a short break due to other work coming in, but should be able to keep things going with regularity from now on.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


	22. The Good Rhetorician

"I spy... something white."

"... Really?"

"What?"

"The sky is overcast and we're in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by snow. And you're going for white?"

"It's no fun if it isn't challenging."

"I'm not sure who told you it was ever fun to begin with."

"Someone's grumpy. Wake up on the wrong side of the druffalo, Sterling?"

Elsa cast the dwarf a look, though she couldn't maintain her anger for long. She tried to remember if she'd ever heard a cross word from Varric since they'd met, but she couldn't recall. Even their current predicament, trekking for days through the snow without proper shelter or food, hadn't dampened his spirits.

"How do you do it?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Stay upbeat like that all the time."

He shrugged. "I get angry and complain like anyone. It's all relative though, isn't it? Little point in adding to your situation with my issues while yours is worse."

"I have gotten myself in a bit of a mess, haven't I?" she sighed.

"It's not so bad..." he began to say, though he didn't seem too convinced. He looked around him, as if trying to assess her mess. It wasn't very obvious during the day, as most people were too focused on putting one foot in front of the other, but the division wasn't gone completely either.

 

It had been worst the first night, when she emerged from her tent with Solas. The whole camp had gone silent, with even the creatures in the forest seemingly waiting for her to speak. The Inquisition's leadership, scattered around the main campfire, had gotten up to await her as she walked down the hill. More and more people had followed their example and gathered around. Some dropped to their knees in prayer as she passed by, others stared at her with fear or defiance. She inquired after their status, of which the others informed her. Then she told them of Solas' plan, which caused the first voice to call out. He referred to Solas as a 'knife-ear', her an abomination, and why either should be trusted in deciding what to do next. The comments drew gasps here and there, affirmative noises from others. It had been one of the templars, she thought, but the man had been obscured by the crowd. Not for long, however, as Cullen had lunged forward the moment he finished speaking. The crowd parted before him and the offender quickly appeared, dragged into the clearing by the collar of his shirt. He landed on the ground with a dull thud, the livid commander of the Inquisition towering over him.

"Say that again," Cullen said in a deadly voice.

The man glanced from him, to her, and back. She recognised him from the evening mass they'd held before closing the Breach, though she hadn't spoken to him. His hair was black, his eyes sharp and strikingly blue. One of them was framed by the remains of a large burn that covered most of the side of his face. It had seared off most of his eyebrow. It hadn't been there before the attack on Haven, and now it was only hastily patched up due to a lack of time and healers. A stillness settled over the surrounding crowd, waiting for the match that would ignite the flame. Sensing the anticipation rising, hands slowly began to shift towards weapons, eyes glancing around nervously. Those who were unarmed - farmers, workers, mothers, children - seemed to shrink towards one another, staring at her with fearful eyes.

"Cullen," Elsa said softly. "Leave him, please."

He shot her a look.

"Please," she repeated, a little more urgently. _Please, Cullen, l_ _ook around you... This is going to go terribly wrong._ "Let's not do this now. It's been a long night for everyone."

The commander returned his glare to the man on the ground. "Consider yourself warned," he growled. "One more offence like that, and you can see that you survive on your own."

The templar swallowed, but didn't reply. Instead he got up, avoiding both of their eyes, and returned to his spot in the crowd. Elsa slowly let go of the breath she'd been holding, observing the people around her. Some of the faces relaxed a little with relief, others remained uncomfortable. 

_I have to say something..._

She swallowed away her nerves, rolling back her shoulders. Her mind was working rapidly now, trying to think its way through the situation. People were acting on instinct, emotion... They were hurt, hungry, and tired. Reasoning with them was not going to work -- it hardly ever did, even in normal circumstances. No point in dwelling on what couldn't be changed.

_If you want people to listen, make it about them, not about yourself._

She slowly walked to the other end of the campfire to give herself some time, a hundred eyes trailing her motions. There was a cart there, seemingly carrying a load of potatoes. Not a very glamorous stage, but it would have to do. She climbed onto it with a little more effort than she'd hoped for and tried to not take it too personal that no one offered to help. Once she was on, she turned around, finding sure footing between the burlap sacks. One more breath to steel herself, then she looked up over the crowd.

"If you stay here, you will all die."

A murmur rose from the crowd and people began to shift around. A couple of children started crying, their parents quickly pulling them into the folds of their clothing. The Inquisition's leadership seemed to eye each other with uncertainty, clearly wondering where she was going to go with this.

_Not the most elegant I've ever been, but effective enough._

"Tonight was a tragedy, one that should not have happened. Nothing of what is going on, what has been going on, should have happened to anyone here. None of you deserve to be in this situation, where so little hope remains."

"You know this!" she continued. "You do not need me to tell you that your chances are slim. The enemy is not in pursuit, but it won't remain that way for long. Supplies are limited. It is unclear who the allies of the Inquisition are in this moment. There is no way back..."

She paused for effect, letting her head drop for a moment. A long sigh left her lips, clearly shown through the sagging of her shoulders. While pretending to be in deep thought, contemplating the hopelessness of the situation, she carefully listened for the turning of the tide. Panic had swept the crowd after her first statement, sadness on the second. Now, a slow sense of dread had started to sink in. She'd been careful not to mention herself too much, downplay her involvement in all this.  _Make it their problem, then present yourself as the solution._

"There is no way back," she repeated, her voice laced with sadness. She looked up -- not quite teary-eyed, but seemingly biting back emotion -- and let the statement sink in a while longer. "But there may be a way forward."

She didn't have the entire crowd where she wanted them, but she estimated it was enough. They were silent once more, but the atmosphere was different. Very few people were ready for a brawl, many more simply wanted someone to tell them how they were going to see the light of another day.

"When I look at you," she said, dropping her voice in anticipation of the planned build-up. "I see those that stood against the darkness when no one else would. I see the brave, the fearless! Those who saw reason, and who knew the value of justice! You do not deserve to be here... but it is because of that resolve, that courage, that you are! And it is why you will not die here tonight! It is why you will _rise up_ , and show the darkness that it will not triumph over the light!"

_...Too much?_

A cheer came from somewhere in the masses, and rapidly echoed from other corners of the crowd.

_I guess not. Now for the tricky part..._

She paused a moment again, considering. She'd been winging it so far and it went about as well as could be expected... The next words could either make this situation, or break everything that she'd just managed to build. She contemplated which way to go, then committed.

"Now... you may doubt me right now."  _Pause, mournful look._  "Fear me even, perhaps. And you know what? You would be right to do so. No one would expect any less of you than to to be suspicious. This is what experience has taught you, and you are smart to listen to it."

There was puzzlement now, even on the faces that had been stubbornly defiant throughout her speech.

"Experience should also teach you something else," she continued, straightening herself up. "That being with the Inquisition so far has brought you safety." She focused her gaze on some of the families. "Has given you a purpose." Young recruits, stable-boys, cooks, sisters. "Has brought you back from the darkness." Templars.

"You are the heart of the Inquisition.  _You_ have made this organisation into what it is. And now you are the ones to save it, to save yourselves. No one can do that for you. The only thing you need to do is believe in yourself, and trust yourself enough to know that you have not been led astray."

It was difficult to tell if that had done it... Putting the responsibility on those around her to decide whether they had been deceived by her was a risky move. The alternative would have been to take the responsibility herself, admit with pained expression that she'd tricked them, but it would make her more vulnerable down the line. Judging from the expressions she had convinced some, and thoroughly confused others. It wasn't the worst outcome.

"There is a way forward," she said with raised voice, pointing in the direction she hoped this place Solas mentioned was to be found in. "There is a place out there, and we will help you find it." She gestured to the leadership. "The Inquisition will go forth. It will continue to grow, continue to provide, continue to stand against the darkness. It is up to you to decide whether you want to be a part of that."

A long silence permeated the camp, all eyes staring at her. She stood still a moment and closed her eyes. Then, as if she'd designed it, a voice started up from the back of the camp.

"Shadows fall.... and hope has fled."

Mother Giselle weaved her way through the crowd, parting it slowly before her like an ocean. Her deep voice filled the air around them, momentarily sad in its loneliness. Then Leliana's voice filled the emptiness, and soon those around her. Elsa waited a moment, respecting her position as the 'outsider'. She climbed off the cart, melting back behind the Inquisition's leadership, and did not sing until enough of the group had joined in.

_Crisis averted... for the moment._

 

Since then, people had largely left her alone. The inspired mood could only last so long, and she knew she had not fully convinced a sizeable portion of the people. She'd caught them staring at her often enough, some in distrustful anger, others simply in uncomfortable silence. It remained to be seen how things would develop should they survive. The best she could hope for in the moment was that Solas had not overplayed his hand, and that this place they were heading for was indeed everything he said it would be.

They continued their walk, Varric picking another target for 'eye spy' after she'd guessed "that patch of snow" several times in a row. The slope was getting steeper, and soon she gestured at him that she didn't want to play anymore at all, needing all her energy to keep breathing in the thin air. He didn't object, and slogged next to her, breathing heavily, until they reached the summit.

A grey stone keep, dangerously perched on the edge of a ravine, became visible through the low-hanging clouds. A massive bridge spanned the depth below, leading up to the gate. The flags were in tatters, pulled apart by ages of wind and weather, yet they still proudly adorned the towers that pointed towards the heavens. Many lords would kill for such a castle, their own holdings dwarfed by this structure hidden away in the mountains.

Solas appeared next to her with Cole.

"Did Solas overplay his hand?" the boy asked her.

"I don't believe so," she said quietly, eyeing the mage. "This looks like it's just what we needed."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehm, I'm back? Is anyone still here? ^^ Working full time, but recently replaying Dragon Age in my free time. Here's to hoping I can finish this story for you!


	23. A Turn of the Screw

“It definitely has… potential.”

Josephine looked around the grand hall. She had her quill and board in hand, ready to start a to-do list. To Elsa’s surprise, both utensils had made it out of Haven. Their presence was comforting in a way. The sight of the poised Ambassador was the closest to anything resembling normalcy since the attack, like a distant memory of a simpler time brought to life. Yet it was clear that no-one, including Josephine, was quite the same since that night. Despite her attempts at seeing the bright side of things, her quill uncharacteristically hovered above the parchment, uncertain where to start. Her eyes flitted from the holes in the walls, to the broken hinges on the doors, to the caved in parts of the ceiling now adorning the ground. It would be a momentous task to make this place liveable, let alone representable. Elsa followed her as she took several steps forward, tapping the feather against her bottom lip as she continued to survey the space. A rustle beneath an old banner made them halt, then jump backwards as a pack of rats came scurrying out towards them. Josephine slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a high-pitched squeak of fright, while Elsa grabbed onto her arm in a reflex. Both let out a nervous breath as they watched the last of the vermin disappear under some debris further away. It was Elsa’s that turned to laughter first, a breathless chuckle, but one that wouldn’t stop. Josephine joined in, careful at first, but her voice soon finding some of its familiar brightness. They stood in the middle of the ruin, holding on to each other for support, laughing without knowing why and unable to stop. The sound reverberated against the empty walls, rolled over the broken statues, and reflected back from the filthy windows. They laughed until Elsa was clutching her side for support, and Josephine wiped tears from her eyes to keep them from landing on her parchment. Both took deep, shaky breaths, trying to regain their composure should someone come walking into the hall. Fortunately no one did, and they only managed after several minutes to straighten themselves out.

“Right,” Josephine said with a slight hiccup. She spun her quill between her fingers with a flourish and tapped the tip onto the paper. “Let’s get to work.”

The quill began to move, fast and precise, as the Ambassador’s dark eyes moved across the room. Elsa watched the words appear on the parchment, once in a while making a suggestion to add to the list. Josephine would nod in acknowledgment every time, her hand not stopping for a moment. Skyhold was indeed exactly what everyone needed now, Elsa thought. Something resembling a roof over their heads, walls to hide within, a place to call their own. Most importantly, although it was likely the last use Solas had envisioned for it, it was a project. Nothing better to avoid things you’d rather not think about.

* * *

“How long until this place is defensible?”

Cassandra addressed him from across the table. They’d grabbed the first unbroken one they could find, after which they’d started carving a floorpan of Skyhold into the surface. It would need to be replaced the moment they had access to some proper scrolls, but it would do for the moment.

“It is already better than any position we ever had in Haven,” he replied, scratching in a cross where the scouts had reported a caved in ceiling blocking access to one of the towers. He’d done a quick round of the fortress himself to get a general sense of the layout, while the details were now being examined by his soldiers. Another one came running up to them as he spoke and reported on holes in the back wall of the keep.

“They’re not a priority,” Cullen grunted, making a quick scratch in the corresponding location. “Go check the eastern perimeter.” The man nodded, then ran off again.

With the keep being built on the very edge of a cliff, the back was inaccessible to foot soldiers. He made the educated guess that even an archdemon — or dragon, or whatever it had been — would be hard-pressed to target it, having to manoeuvre between the wall and the steep mountain behind. It made fixing any defects irrelevant for the moment. More important was the front of the keep, of which the walls were thicker than those of the Gallows and largely structurally sound. Should they be attacked again, at the very least their people would have safe harbour in the lower levels and their soldiers a fighting chance.

“I’ll get guard rotations up and running today,” he mused, drawing a route along the walls. “But our next priority should be scouts in the mountains. We cannot be taken by surprise again like we did at Haven. There is only so much we can do against a dragon. Ballistas, if we can get them, and more trained archers. But most importantly, we need to know if and when Corypheus is coming.”

Leliana nodded in consent. “Agreed, we should get basic outposts set up as soon as possible. Josephine can contact some of our allies to see about equipment and other resources.”

“Should she already?” Cassandra inquired. “For the moment, we can hope that Corypheus presumes us dead. Once we reach out, the news that we are not is likely to spread.”

“Finding the opportune time is important,” Leliana agreed. “but we cannot wait too long. Right now, the rumour is circulating that the Inquisition — and the Herald — have been defeated. We should not let that stand too long, lest people start to panic and we lose our momentum. We should use the story of her resurrection while it has the most effect.”

Cullen looked up from the table for a moment, quirking an eyebrow. “You plan to spread that interpretation?”

She eyed him for a moment. “It is in our best interests.”

“She didn’t die,” he protested. “Her survival was —“

“A miracle.”

“I was going to say remarkable,” he sighed. “But, yes… I suppose so.”

“We won’t say anything that is a lie,” the spymaster said gently. “But we won’t downplay the reality either, nor discourage anyone from sharing their own views. Not only will it help the Inquisition, it is the best thing to distract from any other rumours that may begin to circulate.”

Cassandra took her hands off the table and folded her arms in front of her chest. “We should discuss how we are going to handle that situation,” she said, , observing the spymaster. “Where is Josephine?”

“Surveying the main hall,” Leliana replied. “She should join us in a bit.”

The Seeker nodded, then returned her attention to him. “What is the general sentiment among the soldiers?”

“Morale has been low,” he said slowly, struggling to capture the mood of the last couple of days. “But it’s picked up since we arrived here. Regarding the Herald… I’d say the only real concern is among the Templars, though it’s not a majority.Iron Bull tells me our own men do not seem particularly affected. They still very much believe in her, and even more so since Haven.”

“She made a difference with that speech,” Leliana mused, looking contemplative. “A bit clichéd, but she managed to do some damage control. Of course, she also indirectly cemented our support for her, which we now need to manage.”

“Are you saying she does not have our support?” he replied sharply.

“Of course not,” Leliana replied. “But she presented herself as an integral part of the Inquisition to draw attention away from herself. It doesn’t change that having her be so is a possible controversy that could damage us.”

“How involved do we want her to be, moving forward?” Cassandra asked.

“She is the only person who can close rifts,” Cullen reminded her.

“True, and her reputation is a considerable asset,” the spymaster nodded. “She has proven herself many times by now. What is important is that we downplay the particulars of her magic training.”

“How do you mean?”

“The problem is not that she is a mage, although the situation with the rebels and these Tevinter extremists does not help with trust,” Leliana continued. “The real issue is that some of the templars saw her lose control over it. It shouldn’t be too hard to pivot that into something else. She was exhausted, undercooled, injured… That should be the official explanation, should it come up.”

“And anyone questioning that?” Cassandra inquired. “What if they expect her to use magic?”

They stood in silence a moment, contemplating the hypothetical. It was then that the approach of the ambassador, lightly skipping down the steps of the keep towards them, provided a momentary distraction. Josephine seemed in better spirits than she had been for the last few days, which cheered Cullen to see. She’d been particularly miserable during their trek through the mountains. To her credit, she had managed to bite back any complaints she might have had. Now she paid close attention to Leliana as the spymaster brought her up to speed on their present discussion, then quickly flipped to another page on her clipboard.

“The best thing is for us to get up and running as soon as possible,” Josephine said. “This… place needs to be fixed up if we are to receive anyone of importance. In the meantime, I suggest we keep providing aid where we can. The Herald was most effective in garnering support when she was traveling the Hinterlands. We had requests coming in every day at Haven, they can be our focus until we have reestablished ourselves.”

“Can we be sure Corypheus won’t target her again?” Cassandra asked.

“It does not seem likely,” Cullen replied with some hesitation. “He undoubtedly needs to recover from his losses as well. Furthermore, he came for the mark. Now that he knows he can’t take it from her, she is not likely to be much of a target to him.”

“Most important is that we take control of the narrative,” Josephine continued. “Actions still speak louder than words.”

“If we go that route,” Leliana said contemplatively. “What is she going to be then?” She paused, letting the question hang in the air.

“What do you mean?” Cullen asked. “Does she need to be anything else than the Herald?”

“What I mean is, does she act as an agent of the Inquisition? As part of its leadership? The people decided on the Herald after the Conclave, but that was before we knew what we were up against. Now that Corypheus has revealed himself, I think we need something to counter that threat.”

“We’ve never formalised her position,” Josephine murmured against her quill. “It would help in making the Inquisition appear united and well-organised, even when we’ve suffered a defeat.”

“We never got our Inquisitor.” Cassandra’s eyebrows were drawn into deep thought. “Perhaps now is the time.”

“Do you think she wants that position?” Cullen interjected. It had been barely a week since he’d sat across from Elsa in the Chantry, although it felt much longer than that. He’d watched her pain as she struggled with the most fundamental of questions about her life. Everything since then had been a whirlwind, one that he could not possibly predict the effects of. To top it all off, Corypheus had told her she was indeed not Andraste’s chosen, but merely a mistake. Had she not gone to find her brother at the Conclave, nothing of the past months would have happened to her. Her secrets would not be laid bare to the world, and she would have been exposed to any of the horrors she had been. Perhaps she was wishing for that now. He couldn’t blame her for it, if that was the case.

“I don’t think she has much of a choice at this point,” Leliana replied. “She is the one who declared our support for her, and she needs it as much as we need hers.”

Cassandra nodded in agreement, and with that the decision seemed to have been made. Cullen moved a marker on the map — a chess piece he’d found on the ground somewhere, for lack of something more appropriate — to hide his discomfort. As the Inquisition’s commander, he had no issue declaring his support for Elsa. Nor would he shy away from defending that decision to anyone who might question it. His doubts came from a place much more personal, he noticed, one that had no place at this table. Unfortunately that did not make them any easier to ignore.

“… What about the magic concern?” Josephine reminded them.

“It’s not something we can decide for her,” Cullen replied before anyone else could. Elsa would recognise the importance of whatever position they would assign her, of that he felt certain, but her history with magic was different. While his position did not allow him to protect her from whatever danger might befall her next, at the very least he could offer her some agency in something so personal.

“I would agree,” Leliana replied, to his surprise. “So why don’t you discuss with her what she wants to do, Commander? She has been more forthcoming with you regarding this topic than with us.”

“I can…” he said uncertainly, wondering what trap he had just stumbled into. “What do you want me to achieve, exactly?”

“The ideal way is for her to learn some basics,” Leliana replied. “A talentless mage that cannot use magic will be seen as unreliable. On the other hand, not using it out of principle will raise questions. At the very least she should be able to defend herself in a time of need.”

“That would also help in keeping her safe,” Josephine added.

“Please offer this option to her, Commander,” the spymaster continued, her smile far too knowing. “She is most likely to accept it coming from you.”

* * *

Elsa watched the group disband from the top of the stairs. She was not surprised she hadn’t been included in the meeting. After all, she was not likely to be of help in securing a mountain fortress. More importantly, her standing in the Inquisition was not as defined as it was a week ago. Judging from the expressions she’d observed on their faces, she didn’t doubt this had been one of the topics of discussion. A conversation with her was undoubtedly forthcoming, one that she wasn’t sure how to prepare for.

She spent the rest of the day helping out where she could, spending most of her time with Cole in the makeshift infirmary. The boy’s presence, odd as he could be, remained strangely soothing. Being around him quieted the voices that whispered in the back of her head, stopped the nerves from gnawing at her stomach. A discussion between Vivienne and Solas had given her a moment’s pause to reconsider this effect. If she had learned anything, it was that consorting with demons was not something that should be pursued. But Solas did not seem concerned, which was enough to win her over. Even without his endorsement, however, she doubted she could ever distrust Cole after what he’d done for her. The boy was strange, to be sure, but his heart seemed in the right place.

Cullen approached her after dinner that evening, his expression leaving little to the imagination as to what his purpose was. She silently cursed the others for recruiting him for this. His clear discomfort with the topic he was about to broach worked as disarming as she knew Leliana had anticipated it to be.

“Lady Herald,” he began, and he cleared his throat. “Could we speak?”

“Of course, Commander.” She got up from the rubble she had been sitting on and brought her bowl back to the serving table. Then she followed him away from the crowd, taking note of the heads that turned to follow them. The burned templar from the other night was one of them, as well as several of the men and women sitting with him.

Cullen turned away from the courtyard, heading for the steps leading up to the battlements.

“Up here,” he said apologetically, motioning towards the wall. “If you don’t mind.”

_He doesn’t want to be overheard._

She pulled her cloak closer around her as they reached the top of the steps, leaving the wall’s shelter. The sharp wind stirred her hair, pulling it out of the bun that had loosened throughout the day. Cullen turned onto the battlements and continued to walk, eventually halting next to one of the towers.

“Is this alright?” he asked. “The tower should block most of the wind.”

The tower’s entrance was blocked, making how they came the only possible way to their location. Anyone approaching them would be spotted by the Commander from a mile away. She looked over her shoulder at the people below them, noting how they should also be able to see them.

_Doesn’t want to be overheard, but doesn’t want to be raise any questions in being alone… What are you up to?_

“This is fine, Cullen,” she said, turning back to him. “How have you been?”

“I, uhh…” She’d taken him by surprise. “I am well. We should be able to start reconstructions soon. Guard rotations have been established today. We won’t run from here.”

“I’m sure the people appreciate your hard work,” she smiled. “But I actually meant it on a more personal level.”

“Yes…” he replied, touching the back of his neck. “I just realised that. I’m… good. As well as can be expected, I suppose. How… how are you?”

She paused a moment to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, noticing how his eyes trailed her movement. “I’m alright,” she said, shrugging slightly with one shoulder. “I’m alive. That’s something to celebrate, isn’t it?”

“It is.” His expression darkened. His eyes were a muted brown under the starry night sky, yet burned into hers when she looked into them. “I thought you were gone,” he continued, quietening his voice.

She swallowed. Perhaps she’d been wrong about his intent. She’d steeled herself throughout the day for someone to talk to her. Several options had gone through her mind. They could tell her she had to leave, that her presence was too high of a risk for the Inquisition. Alternatively, they could send her back into the field, away from the glares of templars. Or perhaps they’d want her to work with the Chantry sisters, reestablish herself as the Herald that rose from the dead. She’d prepared answers for each of those scenarios, not sure which she preferred. She didn’t want to leave, that much she knew, but more for fear of where she would go if the Inquisition was taken away from her rather than a desire to help. There was no doubt that she was heavily outmatched by a creature like Corypheus. Whatever use she had now would be ceremonial only, if they managed to make up for the rumours. She didn’t know if she had that in her, not anymore. Some of her people saw her as a treacherous threat, waiting to stab them in the back. Others looked at her as if she were a god. Neither was something she wanted to deal with. But she would try, if it meant staying around Varric, Cole, Sera, even Lady Vivienne, who had watched over her at night for the last days without judgement, and the others… And of course Cullen himself, who was now looking at her with an intensity she had only seen once, shortly before they’d shared his bed in Haven.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have left the Chantry. It was too much, I didn’t —”

“It’s okay,” he said quickly. His hand reached out the her, but seemed to halt shortly before her arm. His fingers only lightly touched the fabric of her sleeve, before retreating. “I’m sorry you had to go through that…” he continued. “I will not allow those events to repeat. You have my word.”

A promise such as that seemed to suggest she was allowed to stay. Elsa bit the inside of her lip, feeling the concern of the day slowly bubbling in her chest. She had to know.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping her voice small. “Does that… am I to stay then?”

He blinked, taken aback. “Of course you are. Did you doubt that?”

“I did, I suppose.” She turned her back towards the wall and leaned against it, looking back at the courtyard. It was beginning to empty, with everyone retiring to mattresses of straw and burlap sacks to rest their tired heads and bodies for the night. “I guess I don’t know what my role is now. I didn’t before the attack, but now I am even less sure.”

“I told you you’re a part of the Inquisition,” he reminded her, glancing over to the darkening grounds below before stepping in slightly closer towards her. “Your speech… I thought you saw that too.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” she sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all, but I thought we had a riot on our hands. I could either throw myself at the mercy of those who felt betrayed, which would be to jeopardise the beliefs of others, or refocus the discussion on the Inquisition as a whole.”

“You have done nothing wrong. There is no one that you should be asking for forgiveness.”

“I’m glad to hear you think so,” she smiled. “Either way, I have to say I am not great at throwing myself at anyone’s mercy.”

He chuckled, and repositioned himself against the wall. “No, you’re not the type.” His armoured arm brushed against hers briefly, though she couldn’t tell if it was on purpose.

“You have discussed it though… haven’t you? The situation is not so simple.”

Cullen raised his head to look at the night sky and let out a sigh. “I’m afraid not. The others want to formalise your position in the Inquisition, formally unite the movement behind you.”

Now it was her turn to be surprised. She’d guessed they would keep her around. Probably close a rift where needed,maybe run mass, and make herself useful where she could. Definitely not push her further forward.

“Unite them behind me? In what way?”

“They intend to put you forward as Inquisitor.”

“… Oh.”

She stared at him, while he continued to look at the sky. A muscle tensed in his cheek, sharpening the line of his jaw. His stubble was longer than usual, a little longer even than when he had kissed her. He’d been scratchy against her skin, sending shivers through her body. He appeared softer now, making her want to reach out and stroke the side of his face. But she resisted the urge and turned her gaze towards the ground.

“I see,” she said quietly.

Cullen cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to his face. A new hint of discomfort had begun to form.

“Is there something else?”

He glanced at her, then straightened himself up from the wall. One of his hands rested on the pommel of his sword, the other on top of the first. “We need to know how you want to handle the rumours about you being a mage,” he said, pushing back his shoulders. “You have our support, but there will be talk. It can’t be helped.”

“I could have made the decision not to use magic,” she replied quickly. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would be acceptable for the ceremonial position she had envisioned for herself. “With the state of the world, it should not be a hard position to defend. My use of it was a one-off, due to the circumstances.”

He furrowed his brow, sizing her up.

“It would be odd if you’re in a dangerous situation and do not use it again. You’d also be giving the impression that the Inquisition does not condone the use of magic,” he said slowly. She doubted that he’d have thought that through a few months ago… her own influence likely had done that, but for the moment she blamed the spymaster.

“I… suppose that would be true, yes.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No— I mean, I don’t think magic is… wrong. Vivienne, Solas… they can do good. But in general…” She paused, temporarily at a loss for words, and pushed away from the wall. The topic made her nervous. “I can only speak for myself.”

“Except you don’t anymore.” His eyes burned into her back. “You speak for all of us.”

Elsa remained silent, a tense rumbling in her chest.

“Leliana suggested an alternative.”

_Of course she did._

“And what is that?” she asked.

“…To learn how to use it. Go through training so you can at least defend yourself.”

She spun around abruptly, fixing him with her eyes. “Out of the question.”

“Just listen,” he said quickly.

“No, Cullen! Just… no.” He’d stepped towards her, making her back away. “I can’t.”

“I can work with you,” he offered. “And whichever mage you feel most comfortable with. Most apprentices can learn a decent barrier spell, at least. Perhaps healing. You would be safer —”

“NO!”

Panic gripped her heart, too soon since the last time. It had happened in Therinfal, it had happened in Haven. She’d shut the cage, never to open it again. Her body protested, telling her to run. She couldn’t deal with it again.

“I thought you accepted me,” she said, her voice quivering. “I thought you understood.”

“I do! I understand, but—”

“If you did, you wouldn’t ask this of me.”

“You know I don’t care about the politics,” he said sternly. “But as the Inquisition’s Commander, I need to take all the angles into consideration. We’re facing a grave threat.”

_The Inquisition’s Commander…_

The longer she looked, the further away he seemed to be, rapidly becoming more distant despite neither of them moving. She had not considered they’d put her at the front of the organisation. In her own assessment it wouldn’t be worth the risk. Perhaps she’d underestimated the effect her survival had on the people, or overestimated the impact of the templars seeing her use magic. The implications of it rapidly formulated in her mind.

“You wanted to know how I will handle it?” she said, straightening herself up. “Then this is the deal. You want me to rally the people to fight Corypheus? Fine. I will do the best I can, and you know I’ll do it well. If anyone questions me about magic, I will deal with them. But outside of that happening, we do not discuss this any further.”

“Elsa —”

“Good night, Commander.”

She turned on her heel, cloak billowing in the wind, and strode back to the staircase. His heavy footfall followed her for a moment, then fell behind. She took the steps as quickly as she could without running, crossed the courtyard, and entered the grand hall. Varric was sitting on his bedroll, reading a letter by candlelight. He looked up at her approach, eyeing her quizzically as she lay down on her own mat and turned her back towards him.

“Sterling?”

“Not tonight, Varric,” she sighed. “Just… not tonight.”

Tears pooled in her eyes, dreams she had allowed herself to entertain turned liquid. Let them out now, she told herself. They’ll be gone tomorrow. Varric didn’t speak anymore. Instead he rested his strong hand on her shoulder, steadying it as she made the silent vow that these were the last tears she would allow herself to shed.


End file.
